


The Witches of Autumn Woods

by TheArtOfSuicide



Series: Something Wicked This Way Comes [2]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988)
Genre: Disrespectful Attitudes Toward Christianity, Drug & Alcohol Abuse, Excessive use of Expletives, F/F, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Torture, Homophobia, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Severe Child Abuse, Racial slurs, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9437045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: "So mote it be." AU/Movieverse. Part II/III. Complete.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second installment of what I plan to turn into a trilogy. The first part is entitled A Haunting in Connecticut and is complete and ready to read on my profile. I sincerely apologize to any actual practitioners of magic who happen upon this story and are appalled by the inaccuracies. My source material is a website filled with amateur spells. I ask you kindly to suspend your disbelief for the sake of enjoying this story. Thank you so much for your support and for taking the time to read my work!

On a cold Winter night in a small college town in New England, with the help of a supernatural being who held powers beyond their imaginations, three witches were born.

Winona Ataasi Jackson, known as Nona, was born in Nottinghamshire, England to one Mr. Afram Jackson, and his wife Mrs. Patricia Jackson. Mr. Afram Jackson came from South Africa. He fled the country in the wake of apartheid. How ironic it was that Afram deserted his home, a land that had so viciously mistreated him and people like him, only to find refuge in the land where his oppressors originated. Poor, with no family or home to turn to, he found solace in Jesus Christ. Afram dedicated himself to the Lord, and in his path to enlightenment, he found love with a young white woman, one of his flock, Patricia. Together they had two beautiful daughters, Winona and Mary; one daughter named after their physical mothers, one after their spiritual. Winona proved to be a problem child, though, and at the young age of thirteen, she committed a sin so devious in the eyes of the good Mr. and Mrs. Jackson that she was cast away from them, renounced. Young Winona was driven to performing perverse acts in order to pay her way to sanctuary, as is often the tale of underprivileged young women. Within a few short years, she found herself enrolled at one of the most prestigious four-year universities in the United States. American tuition was expensive, however, and Winona still found herself carrying out duties in the dark of the night that Mummy and Daddy would be none too pleased with. They didn't matter anymore, though. Nona lived only for herself.

Amanda Nicole Black, Mandy to those who knew and loved her, was a born and bred Creole. She knew little of her mother, other than that the woman had yellow hair and blue eyes, like her, and was constantly pregnant. No, the majority of Amanda's memories of early childhood were consumed by her father. He was a drunkard and a brute. Thanks to him, Amanda could take a right hook better than anyone she knew. Thanks to him, her earliest recollection of life was that of her mother's bruised and broken face. One night mommy didn't come home, but daddy did. The police told her that bad men took her away, that she'd been walking down too dark of a street too late at night. Amanda didn't believe them, but they didn't care what a six-year-old had to say on the matter. Hatred and bitterness for the loss of her mother festered within her. And then, one day the old man went too far. She came home late from rehearsal; Amanda adored the stage, and found the youngest of her three brothers, Eric, nursing a broken nose. Something inside of her snapped. She remained calm, cleaned up Eric, made dinner as per usual, and tucked them all in with the fall of night. Once all three of her younger siblings were adequately cared for and she was certain that they were asleep, she acted. A homemade tripwire that she learned how to make on the internet- naturally- was tied meticulously at the top of the banister. Then, all she had to do was wait. Several of her hung-over father's bones snapped sickeningly on the way down, but none so prominently as his neck. Amanda watched from the top of the stairs as he bled out, and bleed he did. But not as much as the life insurance company. The cash was split between her and her brothers, they went to live with her mother's sister in Tennessee, and Amanda took off. It was only a few short years before she found friends for herself in the forms of Nona Jackson and Lydia Deetz.

Lydia Elisabeta Deetz, formerly Volkov, is arguably the star of this tale. Lydia was born out of wedlock to a young Russian immigrant by the name of Natalya in the slums of New York City. Natalya, with the help of her parents, came to America with dreams of becoming a doctor. Her parents, Lydia's grandparents, were hardworking people, but they were poor. Every last bit of their life savings went to sending their beloved daughter out into the world to live a better life than the ones they'd had. All of Natalya's dreams were forgotten, however, when she met and fell madly in love with a man named Charles Deetz. She found out the difficult way, however, that her love was one-sided. Pregnancy, heartbreak, poverty, and the unexpected loss of her father took a toll on Natalya. Her studies suffered with the birth of Lydia and with them her dreams of becoming a doctor. Before Lydia was three years old, Natalya Volkov took her first dose of heroin. Addiction took her. All of the child support payments that Charles made were shot straight into her arm. Make no mistake, Natalya loved her daughter; so very, very much. But she was a fragile creature, not built for the harsher realities of life that all seemed to make their existences known within a few short years. She became numb to reality, just floating by and waiting for her next obliviating fix. Little Lydia was lost in the cross-hairs. By the time Lydia was seven years old, her mother was in prison and she was sent to live with the father that she'd never known and his young wife, a woman who had no desire for children. This is where she was discovered.

There are things in this world that are beyond our comprehension; shadows that move when nothing else does, animals that snarl and hiss at the thin air, as though there was an intruder in your home, an icy tingle down your spine on a warm summer's day. None of these things are beyond his knowledge, and none of these things are beyond him. He was the boogeyman, the monster that mother's used to threaten their children with when they wouldn't behave, the end all and be all of bad shit that was not to be fucked around with. And he loved her, little Lydia. He loved her so much that on a whim he bound his ancient, immortal soul to her blossoming one in a ceremony as old as time itself. The ghoul was foolish, however, and did not realize that in binding a soul of one who has passed with a soul of one who still lived, he was committing an act of dark magic; Black Magic. He'd unwittingly damned her to eternal life, not that the girl yet realized that this was, in fact, an act of damnation. After an agonizing period of separation where the poltergeist was kept in a purgatory-like state, they were reunited. In less than a week, the girl of her own free will gave herself to him. Of six-hundred years of victories, this one was the sweetest he'd ever known.

Here they were, all four of them, in the apartment that Lydia and Mandy shared. Betelgeuse hovered on the outskirts of the large salt circled that encompassed the hardwood floor. The three girls sat within the circle in a triangular formation, cross-legged and pouring over the ancient spellbook he'd translated for them- for her. All three girls were intoxicated, but not overly so, just enough to be willing to play with fire. Speaking of fire, candles were the only source of light in the room, besides the glow of the poltergeist's cigarette. Ordinarily, Lydia and Mandy did not allow smoking inside, but tonight was a special night, and the patio doors were open, so they were willing to look the other way.

"Okay," Lydia began, leaning up from where she'd been bent over the book. Next to the book sat an ornate brass goblet, filled halfway with red wine. "From what I can tell, it basically says that if we want the spells we cast to be most effective, they must be performed within a coven. In order to form a coven, you need a minimum- and desired- number of three people, preferably women." The dark-haired girl paused to share a look with her friends. "B, does this sound right?"

He chucked his cigarette over the balcony and lit another. "So far, so good." This entire ritual was unnerving to him. He knew firsthand the price of playing with magic. The idea of his bride dabbling in it left a bad taste in his mouth. He had no place denying her, though. After all, this was where his great wealth of power came from; centuries of studying books just like the one she and her friends were trying desperately to understand. If Lydia wanted it, she was going to get it. They whispered back and forth to one another for a while longer, occasionally stopping to fact check with the ghost before continuing onward. Lydia went first.

" _Blood of mine, blood of thee_

_Sister mine, so mote it be."_

With conviction, she stuck her thumb with a safety pin and allowed a few drops of her blood to fall into the goblet. Then Nona, then Mandy, each girl first whispering the words then offering up their own little blood sacrifice. Lydia stirred the bloody wine with one finger, before taking a deep sip and passing it to her left. Again, the ritual was repeated by each consecutive girl. When Mandy, the last in the circle to take a sip, set the goblet back down next to the book they all jumped as a thunderous crack of lightning rattled their shadowy accommodations.

Betelgeuse cackled madly at the sight, his earlier unease dispelled for the moment. "You sure you gals ain't gettin' too big for your britches? If a little bit o' lightnins' scarin' ya, maybe you shouldn't be fuckin' around with magic."

They ignored his teasing. "Is that it?" Nona spoke, eyes wide with wonder. "Are we a coven now?"

Betelgeuse answered. "Yep. Congratulations, you're witches. Consider yourselves lucky. Back in my day they'd have tied you up to a pole and barbecued you in town square, where everybody could watch."

Lydia frowned and reached for his cigarette. He passed it to her, unaffected by the salt circle. "I wouldn't put it past the people here to burn a witch at the stake. Their system of belief is archaic."

Mandy was flipping through the pages, searching, while Nona took the cigarette from Lydia. "Look at this one!" Mandy spoke, pointing to a page that had an illustration of a grinning black cat silhouetted by a crescent moon. The page was headed with the words "For Communication with Familiars;"

"I want to try this one!" The blonde jumped when Luna pounced into her lap, seemingly out of nowhere, and meowed.

Nona passed the cigarette back to Betelgeuse and scratched the kitten's ear. "I think little one agrees with you."

Lydia was bent over the book, reading the appointed passage. "This actually seems pretty simple. B?"

"If you really want a talkin' cat botherin' you all day, by all means; knock yourselves out." He didn't see any obvious problems with this particular spell.

The three bubbled with excitement and placed Luna in the center of the circle, on top of the book. Lydia took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Okay, we have to join hands and say it three times, together. Repeat after me;" They did, and Lydia spoke the words once, slowly, so that they could be imprinted into the other two girls' memories. Luna was utterly still, as though she knew exactly what was happening and was just waiting patiently.

" _Tail of rat, Wing of bat,_

_Allow this cat to chit-chat,_

_So mote it be."_

There was a long tense moment where nothing happened. And then, without opening her mouth, the kitten spoke.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Mistresses do magic. Mistresses hear Luna now?"_

The voice was that of a little girl's. Luna was still a kitten, after all. All three of them jumped as the childish voice resounded clearly in their heads. Betelgeuse did not. He wasn't a member of the coven, wasn't a part of the circle. The spell didn't extend to him.

"L-Luna?" Lydia reached a hesitant hand forward. The kitten nuzzled it, purring.

" _Pale Mistress. Pale Mistress loves Luna. Luna loves her Pale Mistress."_

Mandy joined in on petting the tiny kitten, enthralled. "You know your name?"

" _Luna has only had two names; the name given to her by her mother and the name given to her by her Mistresses. Luna loves her Mistresses."_

Nona lied down on her stomach and scratched under its fuzzy chin. "Do you consider me a mistress, Luna? Even though I don't live here with you, or feed you."

" _Curly-Haired Mistress is Luna's Mistress, too. Curly-Haired Mistress gives Luna toys and treats. Luna loves her Curly-Haired Mistress."_

"What was your name before it was Luna?" It was Lydia who was questioning the kitten this time, after taking a long deep sip from her wine.

" _It is in the language that humans cannot speak; the wild language."_

"The _wild_ language?" Mandy's eyes were huge, the reflection of the candlelight gleaming off of the reflective surface of her orbs.

" _Yes, Tall Mistress. The language of beasts! The language of the dog, the bird, the cow! It is all different, and yet all the same."_

Betelgeuse was annoyed. If there was one surefire way to get on his nerves, it was to cut him out of the conversation. Clearly, the coven was having no problem conversing with the cat. The ability to speak to animals was one of the powers he'd yet to learn. It had never seemed important, before. He was raised in a time where animals were seen as filthy creatures that were to be feared and avoided, not fed and coddled. "You babes bored of this shit yet? The rat can't be sayin' anythin' _that_ interestin'."

Lydia turned up her nose at his remark. "Actually, _Betelgeuse_ , Luna's been telling us all about the 'wild language.' I bet you don't even know about it." The end of her sentence dripped with smug superiority.

Her husband sneered, though it was hidden in the shadows. He was leaned against a far wall where the candle light didn't touch him. "For your information, _kid_ , I know a lot more about the language of beasts than you do. Probably more than that little rat, too. Just 'cause I don't see any point in talkin' to mangy animals all day long doesn't mean I'm not at the very least aware that they do converse."

Luna mewed a long, anguished meow and walked in a circle on top of the book before locking her viridian gaze on the ghost. _"Mistresses' Master does not love Luna! Luna does not know why! Luna loves Master! Master saved Luna! Why does Master hate Luna so?"_

All three girls had an immediate, negative reaction. "What did you just call him?!" Nona retracted from the kitten, her adoration for the creature fading just the tiniest bit. Betelgeuse's curiosity was piqued and he emerged from the shadows. "What? What did it call me?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes on her friends. "Don't you dare tell him."

" _Master of Luna's Mistresses! The one who has passed, and yet walks among the living! The one who gives Luna's Mistresses power! Luna loves him! He will not love Luna! He hates Luna!"_ She mewed again, clearly distressed.

"C'mon! I wanna know!" He was practically throwing a fit at this point, eyes narrowed on the kitten as he walked the path of the salt circle. Mandy gathered the distressed kitten into her arms and began petting and shushing it until its anxiety eased. Lydia was smug again, downing the rest of her wine. "Hm. Maybe you should've taken more of an interest in 'talking to mangy animals' then." Luna was falling asleep in Mandy's arms.

Nona stood from the circle and lit a cigarette. She moved to a spot on the floor where the draft of air would pull her smoke out of the enclosed space and into the open air. "I knew I was a dog person."

Mandy was less insulted than any of them by the kitten's insinuation. "B…" She looked up at the poltergeist from the snoozing ball of fur in her arms. " _She loves you_! It really hurts her feelings that you don't like her."

"Boo- fuckin'- hoo."

The blonde knitted her brows together at his indifference and snuggled Luna tighter. "I think you'd like her a lot more if you knew how highly she thinks of you."

"Maybe. Who knows? Not me. You _witches_ won't tell me." The word "witches" was spoken as if it began with a B instead of a W.

Lydia sighed in exasperation and flopped onto her back. " _Fine_." If he wanted to know that badly, she wasn't going to invest the energy to keep it from him. She just didn't want his already over-inflated ego to expand any more than it already was. "She called you our Master."

Betelgeuse's agitation faded instantly. He popped his collar, stood a bit taller, and licked his lips. "Is that so? Whaddya know, the rat's not completely useless."

"Oh, shut the fuck up." The words were growled out from the balcony in a thick English accent. "You are no one's _Master_ , you arrogant fuck, least of all mine." She sputtered when he conjured a collar around her neck, complete with a long leash that led to his hand, and tugged lightly. A furious snarl escaped Nona's throat and she pulled at the leash with all her strength. The poltergeist howled with laughter, staying anchored to his spot while the English girl fell onto the floor in her struggles, scratching desperately at the leather collar plastered to her throat.

"I'm going to KILL YOU! _LYDIA_!" Lydia was glaring daggers at her husband from her place on the floor. "That's not funny, B. Let her go."

He rolled his eyes. "If you say so." And then he released the leash, causing Nona to fall backward. She fumbled angrily with the collar before finding where it buckled together. Once she was free, she scrambled to her feet. Her fists were clenched, her hair was wild around her, and a fire burned in her eyes as her teeth clenched. She strode towards the ghost with single-minded determination and then clocked him across the jaw with her right fist. "Ah!" She cried out in pain and cradled the hand that had been used to attack him. He'd been completely unaffected. It was like punching hard steel coated with cold flesh. A smirk curled his lips as he watched her nurse her injured knuckles, not feeling the least bit of guilt for her pain. "That's cute, Jlo. Real cute."

Lydia stood from her place on the ground and gently took Nona's hand into her own to examine the injury. Nothing was broken, but her knuckles were beginning to swell. "B, that was really, _really_ not okay. Nona, you shouldn't have lost your temper. You know he's just trying to get under your skin." Nona unexpectedly spit in his face, glowering. Her sneer transformed into a disgusted grimace when he wiped her saliva off of his face and then licked it off of his grimy hand, a dark glint in his jade eyes as they narrowed on her. "I don't care! You don't LEASH people without their consent!"

Nona snatched her injured hand out of Lydia's and stalked off to the kitchen to pour out more wine for herself. Mandy watched the whole exchange, frowning. "Guys, can we please not fight? This was supposed to be fun."

"Tell _him_ that." Nona rasped from the darkness of the kitchen, downing her entire glass in one long gulp. They were all, with the exception of the ghost, good and drunk at this point in the evening. Emotions were running hot and Nona was an angry drunk. "Piece of shit corpse. You don't deserve Lydia. If you had any decency at all you'd crawl into your grave and stay there."

Lydia turned on Nona now, defensive. "That's none of your business, Nona. I think I can decide for myself who is and isn't good enough for me."

Betelgeuse stopped his wife with a hand on her shoulder. It was time to de-escalate the situation. He'd just wanted to ruffle the English girl's feathers, not send her into a rampage. "No, Lyds. She's right. I ain't decent and I'm not near good enough for you. C'mon, Beyonce, I'm sorry. Let's kiss n make up."

Nona was momentarily calmed by his admission. Reluctantly, she emerged from the shadows of the kitchen. "Never. Not in this life or the next, will we ever 'kiss and make up.' I will accept your bullshit apology, though. You're so fucking lucky. If I didn't love Lydia you'd be on a one-way express to the Lost Soul's room."

An imploring Mandy pulled a seething Nona back into the circle. "No more bitterness! Tonight is a night for magic and love and friendship, not anger! C'mon, let's play some music and cast more spells!"

Lydia turned in her husband's arms and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear so that her friends couldn't hear her. She knew he didn't have to apologize or agree with Nona's insulting assertions about him. He'd simply done it to maintain peace. His hand slid under her shirt to squeeze her bare ass and she gasped and pulled away from him. His smirk was slimy. "Anytime."

The stereo was turned on, Lydia's phone connected to the blue tooth, and then music was playing through the speakers. It harmonized beautifully with the howling wind. Mandy laughed when she started to recognize the song. "Really, Lydia? How cliché."

"Cliché?" The raven-haired girl frowned as she rejoined the circle. "I thought it was appropriate."

' _When I look out my window,_

_Many sights to see,_

_And when I look in my window,_

_So many different people to be,_

_That it's strange, so strange,_

_You've got to pick up every stitch,_

_You've got to pick up every stitch,_

_You've got to pick up every stitch,_

_Mmm… Must be the season of the witch.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is "Season of the Witch" by Donovan.


	3. Chapter 3

They were drunk; on alcohol and magic. It's a powerful sensation, using magic. The temperature of your blood raises and all of your senses become heightened. There's no other feeling like it in the world. They performed petty spell after petty spell; levitation, telepathy, telekinesis. Pyromancy was by far the group favorite. With the ghost there to monitor them as they controlled the flames, they were able to manipulate it without burning themselves or their surroundings. Their clothes shed, piece by piece, hour by hour as the wine and heady feeling of power warmed their flesh. Lydia was completely naked and lying flat on her back as she bounced a blue flame from one hand to the other, playing. Nona's head was rested on Lydia's bare stomach. She wore nothing but a green lace bra and some blue denim short-shorts, her eyes trained on the ceiling fan as she muttered an incantation to herself lowly. The fan moved at her whim, sometimes at a snail's pace, sometimes so fast that the current blew Lydia's flame out and the pale girl would berate her. The earlier tension had dispelled as soon as they'd moved on to their next magic trick. Mandy was right. Tonight was a night for love, magic, and friendship. There was no room for bitterness, not when the forces of nature were bending so easily to their whims. Speaking of Mandy, the girl was sleeping on the couch in her pink cotton panties and white tank top. She'd spent the majority of the night conversing with the kitten, which now slept curled up on her stomach, in muted whispers. It seemed that Luna's child-like voice would only resonate in their heads when the kitten wanted it to.

"Can't you move something else with your mind?" Lydia's flame had gone out again. She stretched, reaching her arm towards a nearby candle. The spell for pyromancy was muttered and once again she held a ball of easily manipulated fire.

Nona turned over so that she was lying on her stomach and her cheek was pressed against Lydia's bare abdomen. They'd been at it for hours and the moon was high in the sky. Luckily, none of them had class the next morning. The caramel-skinned girl concentrated and locks of Lydia's hair began floating around her. The flame in Lydia's hands dissipated as she tugged her animated tresses back down. "Stop that. That's not what I meant."

Nona chuckled and traced one of the exposed bite marks just beneath her friend's bust. "Did you enjoy yourself? With him?" She shot a dirty look to the poltergeist who floated on his back leisurely through the air, filing his nails into points. "You look like a battered woman."

Lydia craned her neck up, watching as Nona traced the magenta imprints. "Yes, I did, thank you very much." Her tone held just a hint of defensiveness. She knew how Nona felt about her husband.

"Just asking. Girlfriends are supposed to ask their girlfriends about such things."

Betelgeuse interrupted. "I can think of a lot of other things girlfriends are supposed to do together, too." Her friends had to know what they were doing, stripping so brazenly in front of him. They were fuckin' strippers for fuck's sake. Alcohol could only be used as an excuse up to a certain point of nudity. Lydia was a different story. She'd spent time in the nude in her friends' presences before. Now that he had explored every crevice of her body, it meant absolutely nothing to her to tear off the oversized shirt she'd haphazardly thrown on after her bath in his presence. Lydia already knew that she could get away with murder when it came to him. Nona and Mandy, they were just pushing boundaries; seeing how far they could go.

"I don't believe anyone asked you." The English girl spoke from her place lying against his naked bride. "Though, I do believe that Lydia would have a better time in bed with me than with you."

Lydia laughed before Betelgeuse could respond, the vibrations shaking Nona slightly. That was the first time Nona had ever come close to hitting on her in a way that she might consider serious. The caramel-skinned girl may have had a predisposition for women, but there was a distinct line between lovers and friends in her mind. "What's so funny?" She asked, grinning up at the intoxicated Lydia.

"Nothing, that's just the first time you've ever said anything that… _brash_ about me."

"It's true, though. Men are harsh, all hard angles and thrusting and aggression." She traced bruises and bite marks as she spoke and warmth pooled in Lydia's belly as she remembered the way they'd been put there. "Women are different. Women are soft, pliable. There is no other pleasure in the world like that of a woman's pleasure. Do you know what the blind prophet Tiresias said in relation to the male and female orgasm?" Lydia closed her eyes and shook her head. Nona's warm fingers tracing her skin was pleasant, soothing.

"Tiresias said that out of ten, men feel two and women feel nine; ten being the best, of course. Being a man must be unbearable. I know I couldn't do it. They have something called a refractory period. It means they have to wait hours between orgasms." Nona selfishly allowed her gaze to trail to Lydia's bare chest as it rose and fell with her hypnotic breathing. "Women do not."

"Look here, Rihanna, don't start implyin' things you don't know shit about. Lyds can tell you that rigor mortis is, in fact, a very real and useful thing."

Lydia sat up on her elbows and Nona lifted her gaze from her chest to her eyes. "It is. B doesn't have a 'refractory period.' Is this what Professor Amari is teaching you in that 'Human Sexuality' course? I should sign up next semester."

"Some of it. Some I just picked up along the way. Did you know that there are more nerve endings in the clitoris than there are in the entire head of the penis?"

Betelgeuse grinned perversely and lit a cigarette, still floating on his back. "I like this conversation. This is a fun conversation. This is much more interestin' than watchin' you broads do parlor tricks."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, ghost. I'm trying to educate your sexually inexperienced wife here."

"Oh. Educate. Is that what you call it? By all means, go ahead. _Educate_ her. You have my blessing." If the sexy little ethnic lesbian wanted to put the moves on his wife, who was he to complain?

"Yeah, Nona." Lydia grinned flirtatiously, alcohol and her nakedness giving her bravery. "Educate me."

' _You make it look like it's magic,_

' _Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you, you,_

_I'm never confused,_

_Hey, hey,_

_I'm so used to being used,'_

Nona's music was playing now. Her phone had replaced Lydia's hours ago. Nona was like Lydia and listened to a little bit of everything. However, while Lydia had a clear preference for heavy metal, rock, and punk, Nona's playlist teemed with smooth R&B and rap. "Have you ever kissed a girl before, Lydia?"

"No, not really." Just her mother and Barbara. She and Delia had never been close enough, not even for a kiss on the cheek.

"Do you think it'll ruin our friendship?"

"Nah. I'm pretty sure I'm straight."

"Hmm… Let's see then." Nona rose up to her knees and crawled so that she was straddling Lydia in the center of the salt circle, though she didn't allow her full weight to drop onto her. Her inner thighs just barely pressed against Lydia's naked hips.

' _You know our love would be tragic,_

_So don't you pay it, don't you pay it no mind, mind, mind,_

_We live with no lies,_

_Hey, hey,_

_You're my favorite kind of night,'_

Nona's lips were very different from Betelgeuse's. They were as warm as his were cold, as soft as his were rough. They were like rose petals on hers. Where her husband tasted like whiskey and cigars with just a hint of grave dirt, Nona tasted like menthol and red wine. It was an explorative moderately short kiss, just long enough to last the second verse. Speaking of her husband, he was frozen in the air above them, eyes locked on their intimate forms. He didn't think they'd _actually take the bait_. This was just too good to be true. It was unreal. This particular scene could have come straight out of one of the numerous fantasies he'd concocted since reuniting with his wife and meeting her cute little friends. If Lydia thought she was going to sleep tonight without pleasing him again, she had another thing coming. When they parted and laughed nervously in each other's faces, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Mandy continued sleeping on the couch, blissfully ignorant of what was transpiring.

" _Hot damn._ Do I get a little sugar?"

Nona sat up straight from where she'd been bent over his wife and looked directly above her to where he was floating. "Not on your afterlife." At the same time as she said this, Lydia reached both arms for him. Betelgeuse dropped, literally, from the ceiling to the floor beside them with a _thump_. He took Lydia's head in both hands and slanted his chapped lips over hers with a bruising force. Nona pushed him away forcibly, breaking them apart. "See what I mean, Lydia? All brute strength and machismo. Where's the finesse? The seduction?" His arm reached through Nona's to grasp Lydia's waist possessively, unintentionally brushing Nona's lace-clad chest in the process. She recoiled at the accidental contact. Jade eyes narrowed fiercely on coffee-colored ones. "You criticizin' my technique, Mariah Carey? 'Cause I haven't had any complaints, yet."

Lydia sat up, placing a small pale hand on each of their collar bones to push them both away. "No need to bicker, children. You both kiss just fine. Brute strength and machismo have their appeal. So do softness and finesse. No one is better than the other." Her tone was patronizing, her smile teasing. The English girl and the ghost glared at each other sideways, neither one willing to believe that the other was their equal in terms of sexual prowess. Lydia just sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm too drunk for this. Let's go to bed, B." He liked the shift in their relationship, the way that she assumed he'd be sharing her bed from now on instead of banishing him to the couch. "I do insist that you sleep here tonight, Nona. I know you've got a hell of a tolerance, but I will wrestle your keys out of your hands before I let you drive away from here after all the wine you've had tonight."

Nona stood clumsily and closed the patio doors. "I'm not about to argue with you. I'm taking Mandy's bed. Her bed is much better than that lumpy thing in your guest room. Something tells me she won't mind." As if on cue, Mandy snored a loud un-lady like snore from her place on the couch. Lydia and Nona hugged goodnight. "I'm glad we can touch tongues and that it doesn't make our friendship weird." Nona pinched her friend's ass and she yelped, pulling away from the hug. "Darling, our friendship's always been weird. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbug bite." A pointed glance full of daggers was shot towards Betelgeuse.

Lydia yelped again as her husband swept her into his arms bridal style and started off towards her bedroom.

"Don't you two do anything I wouldn't do!" That was a short, short list.

* * *

As soon as the door was shut, he had her on her back on the bed, legs spread. "B, wait!" He didn't wait. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock- which had been painfully stiff since they'd started stripping- and drove himself home. They both hissed. She was nice and wet for him, no problems there. He'd have to thank Nona for warming her up. Her inner walls were swollen from the abuse they'd endured just hours before in India, and they gripped him so tightly that he grit his teeth and ground himself down into her further, willing her sweet little pussy to just swallow him whole. She gasped and her nails bit into the flesh of his biceps. "B, please… Gentle…"

He pulled out a few inches and pushed back in hard, making her cry out with an exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure. "You walk around butt ass naked for hours, play kissing games with your hot little friend, _literally play with fucking fire_ … And you want me to be _gentle_ with you?" She was gifted with another vicious thrust that had her whimpering and shaking.

"Baby, please…" She'd never called him "baby" before. His fire calmed. "Please what?" He breathed against her neck, letting his tongue dart out to taste her sweat. "Please be soft…"

He started rocking into her much more slowly and gently, leaving tender kisses on her neck and cheeks. As much as he wanted to punish her for teasing him, he couldn't deny her when she pleaded so sweetly. "I oughta fuck you clean into this mattress until there's a nice little Lydia shaped hole in it."

"I'm sorry…" She moaned, eyes shutting tightly as he allowed himself to sink deep into her and the base of his length stretched her painfully. Once upon a time, he might have felt bad for taking advantage of an intoxicated Lydia. But he didn't now. Not even a little bit. Besides, if she really didn't want this, it wouldn't be happening. As far as he was aware, Juno's bullshit "protective enchantments" were still in place. He had her fucking consent, alright. It wasn't long before she was shuddering with her orgasm, slim pale legs clenching around his hips. His orgasm wasn't far behind hers.

He withdrew from her and collapsed at her side, pulling her in close to his side with one arm.

"You need ta be more careful, kitten. You've got yourself a knack for gettin' into shit you don't need ta be gettin' into."

His warning fell on deaf ears. She was already asleep. Betelgeuse just sighed and pulled the covers up around her. He spooned her unconscious form, burying his face into her hair and inhaling deeply. Hopefully, she slept well despite her generous alcohol intake. Lydia deserved a good night's rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is "Earned It" by The Weeknd.


	4. Chapter 4

For the second time in decades, Betelgeuse slept. Caring for Lydia was always satisfying, but she exhausted him in the best kind of way. It was so easy to drift off wrapped around the warm soft little body that hummed with life. Her constant thrumming heartbeat served as an extremely effective lullaby. He was dragged out of the abyss, however, when the warm mass of soft skin he was latched to started to stir and turn around in his arms. Jade eyes opened to find honey-colored orbs examining him.

"Good morning." Her voice croaked, heavy with sleep.

"Mornin'. Probably more like afternoon." His did, too.

She closed her eyes and tucked her head against his chest, savoring the gentle slight scratch of his wiry white-blonde hair against her cheek. He'd magic'd his clothes off after she'd passed out, so he was just as bare as she. Lydia didn't question his change of wardrobe. "I don't wanna wake up."

"Then don't."

"I have to." Still, she snuggled closer contrarily. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Almost 5 p.m. You don't _have ta_ do anythin'. You know that."

She just groaned and pulled her heavy comforter up over her head. "Yes, I do. If I don't get up my schedule will be fucked... Though… I guess I don't have class until Monday." It was Thursday.

"That's plenty o' time to sort your shit out. Go back ta sleep."

Lydia couldn't find any flaws in his logic. For the next hour, they cuddled, neither quite awake and neither quite asleep. It was peaceful. Aside from Lydia, he couldn't remember the last time he'd laid in bed with a woman and just held her. The sounds of Nona and Mandy stirring on the other side of her door kept them from fully succumbing to sleep, but it was still nice. When Lydia's phone lit up with a photo of her father in that tacky Hawaiian shirt, though, the world outside of her bed could no longer be ignored.

"Hello?"

"Lydia? Did I wake you up? It's a quarter past six." It was Barbara.

"No, no I've been up for a little bit." A familiar lustful gleam darkened her husband's eyes and she placed a finger over his lips and moved the microphone away from her mouth. " _Don't you dare."_ The words were whispered so that Barbara would be none the wiser. Betelgeuse sucked the finger she'd placed over his lips into his mouth and she pulled it away, sticking her tongue out childishly and turning her back to him. He resumed spooning her and listened in on the conversation.

"I just wanted to check in on you. Adam and I are worried about you."

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I'm great. You don't have anything to worry about." Betelgeuse chuckled low and dark and his hand slid up her abdomen to play with her nipple. To his surprise, Lydia let him and continued talking to her ghostly maternal figure as though it were just another conversation.

"Still… We were hoping you'd come visit this weekend. You and… _Him_. It would make us feel a lot better about this whole situation just to see you." Barbara said "him" as though it were a particularly filthy word that she'd be scolded for if anyone heard her say it.

"Uhm…" Lydia began, biting back a moan when he started sucking on a tender part of her neck just beneath her ear. "Are you- are you sure? I wouldn't want to put you guys out…"

"Nonsense! You could never inconvenience us! We've already got your bedroom set up for you." After Lydia moved out her room had almost immediately been converted into an art studio for Delia. Delia already had an art studio in the third bedroom, but she found she needed more room. Her step-mother had influenced Barbara in a surprising way. Haunting the Deetz's residence got boring fast for Lydia's ghostly maternal figure, with nothing to do but clean and cook all day long. So one day, a hesitant Barbara joined Delia in her studio and picked up a paint brush. The two women quickly became unlikely friends.

Lydia scooted away from her husband and swatted at his hands, no longer able to concentrate on the conversation when he was touching her like that. "I mean if you really want me to. I just think it's unnecessary. I don't want B to give Daddy a heart attack." It was highly unnerving to Barbara Maitland that Lydia already had a nickname for the monster she called her husband.

"Your father is stronger than you think he is. Why don't you drive on up tonight?"

"I don't have to drive. B can take me there instantly. We went to France yesterday… the day before yesterday? I dunno. It's hard to keep track with the time changes."

"W-what?" This did nothing to soothe Barbara's unease. " _Why_? What on Earth could you and him possibly be doing in France together?"

"Oh nothing, he just wanted to take me on a date." If Barbara wasn't already dead, she'd have died again. It was the way Lydia admitted that she and that monster went on a date- in _France_ no less- as if it was the most mundane thing in the world. As if they were discussing the weather. In the years that Barbara had known Lydia, she'd never known the girl to ever once have gone out on a date. There was shocked silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm making a pot roast." Barbara finally spoke, numbly. She had no words for Lydia's shockingly indifferent admission.

If Lydia sensed that something was wrong, she didn't let it show in her tone. "Okay! You win! You know I love your pot roasts. Just gimme a little bit to pack and we'll be there. He'll be nice if you'll be nice. Will you be nice?"

Betelgeuse spoke before Barbara. The ghost on the other end of the phone just barely made out the sound of his voice, but couldn't make out his words. "I've never been ' _nice_ ', babes." Lydia ignored him.

"I-I guess, I don't know. He's invited, isn't he?" Barbara was in shock. Her words were jumbled and lacking emotion.

Lydia took that as a yes. "Good! I'll see you guys soon! I love you!"

"Love you, too." Lydia hung up on Barbara before the ghost had a chance to gather her multitude of emotions and say anything that made sense.

The raven-haired girl stretched and crawled out of bed before examining herself in her vanity. "This won't do…" She was covered with hickeys, bite marks, and bruises. If her parents or the Maitlands saw her like this, they'd think he was beating her or some other terrible thing. "You don't mind spending the weekend in Winter River, do you?"

Betelgeuse's expression was grim. "I gotta level with you, cupcake… I _really_ want to beat the shit out of your dad."

"What?" She was applying concealer to the marks on her neck. The rest would be fine as they were. She usually dressed in sweaters and jeans when she went back home. Her guardians always had something negative to say about her tattoos. "Why? What did he do to you?"

To say that Betelgeuse wanted to beat the shit out of Charles Deetz was an understatement. He wanted to torture him. He wanted him dead. He'd be happy if he never heard the man's name or saw his face ever again. But Lydia's husband loved her too much to tell her the truth of his feelings. "Didn't do shit ta _me_."

"What… Me?" Understanding was dawning on her. "You can't possibly blame my dad for that shit. That's not fair, B."

"Are you seriously tellin' me that you don't blame your dad, not even a little bit, for any of it? All he had to do was grow a fuckin' pair and marry the broad he knocked up. Maybe come visit you sometime, see how his daughter was livin'. Y'know, be a somewhat decent human being."

"Oh, what? Are you suddenly well-versed in decency and morality? He was a _kid_ , B."

"No, he was a selfish adult. You were a kid."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Lydia's face was stony, emotionless. "You can be civil to my dad, or you can spend the next three days haunting the Winter River cemetery. There is no third option." Lydia was dressed now- black sweater, faded light blue skinnies, and combat boots- and filling a black suitcase up with clothes and other various things. He still lay on her bed, entirely nude, blanket strewn over his hips.

"C'mon, Lyds don't be pissed."

"I'm not pissed." She shot him a look. "You'd know if I was pissed. This is not me pissed. This is me telling you that I don't want to talk about it anymore. It's over. It's done. There's nothing to discuss."

He stopped her packing, pulling her back into bed and into his arms. "Okay. We won't talk about it anymore."

Her eyes were level with his chest, expression still guarded. "I _need_ you to not be a dick to my dad. He's had two open heart surgeries in three years. He can't… He's not doing very well." Her voice wavered a bit, the wall that held in her emotions fracturing. "You have to be nice."

Chapped lips brushed her forehead and cold arms pulled her closer. "Okay. Won't be easy, but I'll do my best to not send Chuck to an early grave." Honey orbs flitted up to meet his and he saw that they shone with tears that refused to fall. "Thank you."

"Why don't you go get stoned with your little friends before we head outta here, baby?" He planted a kiss on her that caused the unshed tears in her eyes to dissipate. "Relax. Daddy's not goin' anywhere for a long time."

By "Daddy" he meant himself, but she didn't need to know that. She smiled dazzlingly up at him and departed from the room to do exactly as he'd told her to do. He cracked his neck loudly, stood from the bed, and snapped his fingers. The striped suit was back. It was definitely going to be an interesting weekend. That was for sure.

* * *

They appeared in her parent's driveway. She stumbled less on the landing this time than she usually did. Betelgeuse carried her suitcase as if the act of chivalry would make the Maitlands and her parents think better of him. Lydia took a deep calming breath before knocking on the front door. "Here goes." The wait was excruciating. Adam answered, and Lydia threw her arms around his neck in a bear hug before he had a chance to say anything. "Adam! I missed you!" He returned the hug with both arms, all the while regarding Betelgeuse coolly over the top of her head. Lydia kissed his cheek and pulled back, smiling brilliantly. "How's the model? Have my parents been taking pictures of new buildings for you? I can go out and do that this weekend if they haven't."

"I missed you, too, honey. Yeah, they've been good about it. Why don't you go see Barbara? She's in the kitchen. She misses you." Lydia ran along excitedly, leaving her husband and Adam to glare daggers at each other.

After a long, tense silence, Adam spoke first. "She seems happy. That's good."

Betelgeuse licked his lips and leaned against the door frame. His grip on his wife's suitcase tightened. " _My wife_ wouldn't be anything less." His tone was smug, his eyes daring Adam to argue with him.

"Yeah... Heard you took her to France." There was a dangerous gleam in Adam's eyes behind his glasses that surprised the poltergeist. So he wasn't completely spineless.

"Yeah, I did. Had lots of fun, if ya know what I mean. Lyds _really appreciates_ European culture." The insinuation made Adam want to break his jaw. "You gonna invite me in, four-eyes?"

Reluctantly, Adam moved to the side to grant Betelgeuse entrance. Their shoulders bumped into each other so roughly that had either one of them been alive, they'd have left bruises on each other. The poltergeist set down Lydia's suitcase and followed the sound of her voice into the kitchen. She was talking excitedly to an aproned Barbara about her latest submissions to the magazine she worked for. The conversation ceased immediately at his entrance, Lydia trailing off and Barbara tensing, a steaming roast in her oven-mitted hands. The poltergeist just grinned and leaned over the counter, inhaling the delicious scent of the foiled meat.

"Whatcha got cookin', good lookin'?"


	5. Chapter 5

Awkward was a poor word to describe dinner. It was excruciating. It was painful, unbearable even. For everyone, it seemed, but Betelgeuse. He stole the seat at the head of the table opposite Charles Deetz before Delia had a chance to. Delia, for once, did not complain. She just took the spot next to her husband and Lydia did the same. If her parents or the Maitlands were bothered by this, they didn't have the guts to say so. Barbara served dinner, and a severely uncomfortable silence fell over the table. It was broken intermittently by the sounds of Betelgeuse's atrocious table manners.

"Great roast, Babs." He spoke through a mouthful of rice and beef.

"Thank you," Barbara replied stiffly, sitting upright in her chair.

"I talked to Ted earlier today," Charles Deetz began unexpectedly, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. The last five years had not been as kind to him as they had to his wife. There were wrinkles beside his eyes and mouth that had not been there before, and his yellow hair was streaked with gray. Delia, however, glowed. She'd cut her hair into a severe pixie cut that flattered her features. She hadn't aged a day, though she was just a bit thicker around the hips than he remembered. Not enough to make her unattractive, just enough to give her more of a figure. "He told me Noah Thomas is missing, too. Have you heard about this, pumpkin?"

Lydia froze while Betelgeuse snorted. "Oh… Yeah… About that…" Lydia trailed off, fiddling with a carrot on the end of her fork. "Noah and Todd aren't exactly… missing. They're more like… Uhm… Dead?"

"Oh," Charles said calmly, eyebrows rising. "Well. Good riddance, then. I didn't like you going to school with boys like that." Lydia was blown away by her father's lack of surprise. "I suppose _you_ had something to do with this?" He was talking to her husband.

"Guilty as charged." Betelgeuse swallowed his mouthful of food and leaned back in his chair, staring hard at Charles from across the table. "How'd ya figure that out?" Daddy-in-Law had more brains than he'd given him credit for.

"I went to Business school. I can put two and two together. Two boys disappear in a small, quiet town in the space of a week- boys that have ties with my daughter and her friends. The _same_ week that Juno told us to expect you back?" Charles returned the hard look and took a sip from his glass of whiskey. "I don't believe in coincidences anymore."

"Daddy," Lydia began, frowning, "The Doctor told you not to drink anymore. Delia, I thought you got rid of all of the alcohol in the house?"

"He's stubborn!" Delia replied defensively. "Where do you think you got it from?"

"I can handle some in moderation, sweetheart. It's a special occasion, after all. My little girl's home from college, and she's brought a man with her." Charles' sarcastic words slurred slightly and it occurred to Lydia that this was not his first drink of the night. "Daddy…"

"You should listen ta your daughter, Chuck." In a split second the drink disappeared from her father's hand and reappeared in her husband's. It was downed and the glass was slammed onto the table with more force than necessary. "She's a smart girl."

Charles was instantly furious. "Don't _you_ dare tell me anything about my daughter! I know she's smart, and talented, and kind, and beautiful, and altogether too good for you." Delia placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him, but it was in vain. He stood, fists clenched, and hunched over the table. "There is nothing, absolutely nothing that you could tell me about my little girl that I don't already know."

"Oh," Betelgeuse's grin was sick. "I could think of a _few things_."

Lydia kicked him under the table, shooting him a look full of spite, and then stood and rushed to her father's side. "Daddy, please calm down. Please."

Charles pushed in his chair. "Thank you for the beautiful dinner, Barbara, but it seems I've lost my appetite. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my study." With that, Charles stalked from the room.

"Please don't drink anymore!" Her father did not respond to her plea. She turned on her step-mother, the perfect target for her fury. "Stubborn, Delia? Really? That's the best excuse you've got? _He's drunk_! Tell me, did he pour the drink for himself or did you do it for him? I really want to know."

"Lydia," Barbara was standing, setting down her cutlery. "You can't blame-"

"Stay out of this, Barbara." The ghost was effectively silenced. Lydia had never taken that tone with her before. "You answer the question, Delia."

Her step-mother was making a face like a fish out of water, struggling for the right words. "I-I _love_ your father! He got it for himself! I couldn't very well stop him! Jesus, I wanted a couple drinks myself knowing you were coming home with that _thing_."

"Well, you know what?" Lydia was fuming. She was right. When she was eventually pissed, he'd know it, and she was pissed. "Try harder next time. You pry that bottle out of his hand and pour every last drop down the sink before you let him have any. You want a drink? Get off your fat ass and walk to the bar. It's a small town. Don't you ever, ever just sit there and watch him get drunk like you don't have any control over the situation. You are his _wife_! It is your job to stand up and do something when you see your husband digging his own grave! You don't grab a fucking shovel and help him out." Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Delia was shocked into silence by her stepdaughter's impassioned outburst. They all were. "You are a poor excuse for a wife, for a mother, for an artist, _for a woman_." Tears of hurt were pooling in her step-mother's blue eyes. Lydia felt nothing.

"Thank you for dinner, Barbara. It was delicious. Let's go, B." He didn't need to be told twice. He followed his wife back out into the den and grabbed her suitcase. Her hand was turning the doorknob.

Adam stopped them before they made it out the front door. "Lydia, wait!"

"What, Adam?" All of her emotions had been used up tearing into Delia. She kept her eyes locked on the door, the handle frozen twisted in her palm.

"Please don't go. I'm so sorry."

She sighed and dropped her forehead against the door. "You didn't do anything. You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Just… Just please stay. We all, even Delia, missed you very much. The house feels empty without you."

Lydia released the knob and turned so that she was looking Adam in the eye. She could vaguely hear Barbara comforting a sobbing Delia in the dining room. "I've been having sex with my husband." Adam flinched at the confession. "You know, the guy who murdered those two boys and conned me into marriage at sixteen?" It was a dare. She was daring him to keep loving her even though she'd done what he never thought she would do. "Do you still want me to stay?"

Adam's brow furrowed and he pulled Lydia into an abrupt, tight hug. " _Of course_ I do."

Lydia was overwhelmed. She pulled away, running her hands through her long hair. "I-I need to go for a walk. Just… I'll stay. Just leave the door unlocked, we'll be back. I don't know when, but we'll be back." She turned around and was out the front door before Adam could respond. The two male ghosts shared a tense moment as they watched Lydia walk down the driveway.

Mr. Maitland relented. "Go. Take care of her."

Betelgeuse clapped Adam on the back. "Always." And then he disappeared, reappearing at Lydia's side in Adam's line of sight. The knot in his stomach loosened just the tiniest bit when he saw that it was Lydia who tugged the poltergeist's hand into hers and tucked herself against his side. He was knocked out of his melancholic reverie by the sound of Barbara's voice hushing a hysterical Delia.

' _Time to take care of my own wife.'_

* * *

"I can't believe that _fucking bitch_." They were in the cemetery she'd threatened to banish him to had he not been civil with her father. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't the least bit upset with him. She was even a little pleased with him for taking the alcohol away, though she'd wished he'd done it without baiting the man. "How dare she just sit there and sip her _$200 a fucking bottle_ wine and watch my father kill himself like she can't do anything to stop it. Evil, horrendous cunt." Lydia had been on a tirade since they'd left her parents' house. He could barely get a word in edgewise.

She had her camera- he'd juiced it up for her when she asked- and was snapping away furiously at a particularly decrepit tombstone. The moon was shining on this one "just right", she'd said.

"Ya wanna know what I think?"

"I don't know. Do I?" She paused to examine the latest Polaroid. "Sure, go ahead."

"I think you shouldn't be so hard on her."

Lydia scowled at him and resumed snapping. "I thought you'd be on my side."

"I'm always on your side. I just know a thing or two about alcoholics. My old man was one, much worse than Chucky. Much, much worse."

Lydia's expression softened and she let her camera fall to her chest. It was on the strap. He'd never talked to her about his parents before. He'd given her glimpses into his life, his living life, but nothing that personal. All she really knew was that he lived in Black Death era Austria, took part in cat-killings, and committed suicide via poisonous mushrooms. Everything else was a mystery.

"It's not that easy to stop a man from gettin' a drink when he wants one bad enough. My ma tried for years and all it got her was black eyes and broken bones."

His wife sat next to him on the sarcophagus he'd chosen as a throne. Her warm fingers entwined with his. "That's terrible." She hesitated before asking the next question. "Did he… Did he hit you, too?"

"Honestly, babe, I don't fuckin' remember. I can tell you this, though; if he did, I didn't go down without gettin' in a few swings of my own."

Lydia rested her head against his shoulder and said nothing. She wouldn't press him further. Lydia, of all people, knew that small children didn't stand a chance against fully grown men. If he wanted to make himself feel better by dispelling the possibilities of childhood brutalization at the hands of his drunkard father by insisting that he fought back, she had no intentions of disillusioning him.

"I'm just sayin'… Ya might wanna cut the bitch a little slack. You don't know what she's goin' through dealin' with your dad. He's probably a handful if he's anythin' like you." Lydia couldn't bring herself to be insulted. He lit a cigarette for each of them and flopped back onto the tomb so that he was lying out. She followed him, throwing one of her legs over his and leaning up on one elbow so her eyes could stay locked on his face. His own eyes were closed.

"You're right. I guess I should apologize to her, huh?"

"You did say some pretty vicious shit. Remind me ta never piss you off."

She smirked, puffed her cigarette, and blew the smoke in his face. "Baby," he opened one eye and looked at her, "we're spending the rest of eternity together. You're gonna eventually piss me off." He grinned and turned onto his side so that he was facing her. His half-finished cigarette was tossed over the edge of the sarcophagus and his hands threaded through her silky hair.

"I guess we'll just have to get real good at kissin' and makin' up." And then his lips were on hers. Her cigarette joined his. They didn't make it back to the Deetz residence until well past midnight.


	6. Chapter 6

The house was quiet upon their return. His wife held up a finger to her beautiful smiling mouth, the international symbol for "Shhh." She tiptoed upstairs while he floated straight to the top after grabbing her suitcase. A soft light was coming down the staircase that led to the attic, signaling that the ghostly residents were still awake. "This was my room," Lydia whispered, taking his hand and pulling him towards a door. Once inside, the door shut, she allowed herself to speak at a louder decibel. "Delia and Barbara started using it for painting after I moved out, but a bunch of my stuff's still in the closet." The walls were coated with so many smatterings of paint in all different colors that you could no longer tell what the original color of the walls had been. A queen size mattress and box spring sans frame were pushed against a wall beneath the window, the only furniture in the room unless you counted the multiple canvases in various sizes leaning against the opposite multi-colored wall. The bed was dressed with black sheets, a heavy lilac comforter, and _one_ admittedly large matching lilac pillow. Betelgeuse laughed out at the sight and got comfortable on the bed that was clearly set up for Lydia and Lydia alone. "I think Mom and Dad want me to sleep on the couch. Whaddya think, honey?"

Lydia smirked and turned her back to him to begin undressing for bed. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them down, oblivious to the fact that she now had his complete attention. Her underwear had been abandoned, forgotten, across a tombstone in the Winter River cemetery. As she stepped out of the things, one leg at a time, she looked back at him over her shoulder. He was sitting up now. "I think Mom and Dad want you to sleep padlocked in the cellar."

"C'mon baby, ya can't tell me no and then do somethin' like that." She turned towards him and he crawled off of the bed on his hands and knees before her. Cold lips began trailing up her knee to her hip. She nudged him away with her foot. "We desecrated that cemetery, Valentino. I can and I will. I may not have a refractory period, but I'm not invincible either. My body needs time to heal, B." He hadn't given her much of an opportunity for that since Jaipur. Her point was punctuated by the removal of her sweater, leaving her in nothing but her tattoos. The ghost groaned and fell to the floor dramatically, his head thumping against the ground. "It's not fair." This was the price of having a nice living wife instead of another corpse like him. Undead whores could fuck all day long, 24/7/365 no fuckin' problem. Lydia's sinfully alluring flesh was more delicate than that. The evil witch pulled an oversized T-shirt out of her suitcase before tugging it over her head. This one was black and had nothing on it but the image of a baseball bat wrapped with barbed wire and dripping with blood. She straddled him on the floor and frowned before kissing his nose. "I'm sorry." She didn't know what she was doing. She couldn't. Her apology was too genuine and the furrow of her brows too sincere. "Wanna see my baby pictures? I'm pretty sure there's a picture of Delia with a perm somewhere around here."

His frustration was abandoned in favor of pulling her sweet innocent little face down for a thorough kiss. "How could I pass up seein' Red with a perm?" She grinned at the answer and darted off of him towards the closet. If she wanted to offer him a distraction from the discomfort in his pants, who was he to deny her. She dug around on the top shelf before pulling out several albums. They were set out in a line and she sat cross-legged on the floor opposite him, flipping through one in her lap. "Let's see… Here I am! This was my first time going out to see a movie!" His wife turned the book to show him, and he was treated to the sight of a woman who could have been Lydia's twin holding up a black-haired toddler with large honey-colored eyes. Little Lydia's hair was in pigtails and she did not smile for the camera, eyes frozen in the flash. He'd seen that deer in the headlights look on her before. The woman who was obviously Lydia's mother was a stunner, that was for sure. Midnight hair styled like Veronica Lake's, almond shaped hazel eyes, and a devilish smile framed with full red-painted lips. Her cheek and the little girl's were mushed together in the photo. There was another photo beside this one that featured just Lydia. It must have been taken on the same night. She was pink-cheeked and giggling excitedly in this one, a black teddy bear clutched in one hand while the other pointed at a poster for _Night of the Living Dead_. His dead heart broke. "That's the cutest fuckin' thing I've ever seen."

She took the album back before he could start flipping through the pages. This one was the thinnest of the three she'd taken out. It was set to the side and she started flipping through one of the thicker volumes, a tiny conspiratorial smile on her lips. "Thanks. Now, where's that picture of Delia…."

* * *

Lydia fell asleep in his arms after about an hour of flipping through her albums. Many of them had been taken by her, so she was the least photographed subject of the Deetz family. The photos of her that were included were all official, school photos or family portraits. No candid shots. Ironically, she had a knack for catching people at their most vulnerable, when they were lost in the deepest recesses of thought. The window was wide open above them and she was bundled up in the covers, snoring lightly. He gave her space, off to the side on top of the covers smoking a cigarette and flipping through one of the albums. It was a cool night, after all. He didn't want to make her shiver any more than was absolutely necessary. As he reached the last photo in the album, Charles and Delia dressed up as a mummy and an archaeologist for Halloween, he remembered the first album- the thin one that she'd pointedly put aside. The one they'd spent the least time going through. Careful not to wake her, he reached over the edge of the bed for it, replacing it for the album that was in his hand. None of the photos in this album had been taken by Lydia. This must have been from when she lived with her Mom. He stole the photo of his wife as a child at the theater and folded it up, tucking it into one of his many pockets. Chuck and Delia wouldn't miss it. He'd venture to guess that they hadn't looked at any of these pictures in years.

Each page painted a picture for him. The first few pages showed baby Lydia and her bombshell mother, happy, living in a tiny apartment, and exploring the big city. It occurred to him that somebody had to be taking all of these pictures. His question was answered with the next page flip. There was a photo of Lydia's mother- cheeks sallow, bone thin- kissing the cheek of an equally thin and lanky man with a scraggly beard. His eyes were dead. He wore no smile for the camera. Betelgeuse's own dead eyes narrowed. This photo was stolen as well and tucked into a different pocket than the one that held the photo of his precious little Lydia. Lydia and her mother grew thinner and sicklier with each photo, their surroundings filthier and more broken apart. He could spot fist-sized holes in the walls in some photos. And then the pictures just stopped. The album was less than half full. It rejoined the others on the floor and as the first rays of the morning sun shone through the window, he checked his watch. 5:45 a.m. He closed the window and pulled down the blinds so that Lydia could sleep peacefully, and crept from the room.

It wasn't hard to find Charles Deetz's study. He'd passed out at his desk next to a half empty bottle of Jack and a partially smoked cigar. Betelgeuse sneered at the sight and shook the man awake. "Get up, shithead."

Daddy-in-Law awoke with a start, blinking wide disoriented eyes at him. He reeked of burnt tobacco and alcohol. "You-What the _fuck_ \- Get out of here!" The poltergeist released the man's bathrobe and leaned over him in the office chair, putting on most menacing demeanor. "It's time you and I had that talk." Betelgeuse turned abruptly, yanked the curtain aside and opened the window. He lit a cigarette and Charles winced at the bright sunlight.

"There's one reason, _and one reason only_ , that I'm not gonna kill you." Charles' rage dissipated at the remark, fear pooling in his gut instead. "And that reason is that Lydia loves you. Your smart, talented, kind, beautiful daughter loves you. Even though you left her to rot while you got your degree in that Business school you're _oh-so-proud_ to have attended. Even though you didn't think her mom was good enough to marry. Even though you don't deserve to breathe the same air that she does. She loves you. And _god fucking help me_ I love her. So lucky you, Chuck, you get to live." Charles Deetz was cowering in his chair, holding his bathrobe closed with trembling hands. The ghost took a long drag off of his cigarette and took great satisfaction with his next statement. "Say whatcha want about me; at least I married your daughter before _I fucked her_."

Daddy-in-Law's fear was momentarily forgotten in favor of giving Betelgeuse his best right hook. The poltergeist just cackled madly as Chuck bounced off of him, sprawling across his desk and knocking papers and pens to the ground in his pathetic attempt. "You already got your lucky shots in at the wedding, pops. Don't try that again. We wouldn't want your heart to give out. Speaking of…" Betelgeuse grabbed Charles by his bathrobe and spun him around roughly, pinning him to his desk easily. Charles was seething, shaking hands gripping the wrist that effortlessly held him in place. "Lydia wants you alive. I want Lydia happy. So you're gonna make some lifestyle changes." He picked up the bottle of whiskey with his free hand. "See this? No more." It was tossed into the air and disappeared. "This too." The box of cigars joined the bottle of Jack Daniels. "No more alcohol. No more smokin'. No more fried shit. Nothin' but water, long walks, and salads for you from now on." Charles opened his mouth like he was going to argue. He was cut off. "You saw how fast we got here today? We can pop in whenever Lyds wants me to, without any warnin' at all. So don't even fuckin' think about cheatin'. You'll regret it." His bathrobe was released and Charles Deetz fell to the ground.

"You-you don't understand!" His wife's father was still partially intoxicated and his words slurred. "Natalya was wild! She stayed out late every night, barely spoke English, and couldn't hold down a job! My father would have stopped paying my tuition if I gave a woman like that my grandmother's ring!" The excuse sounded so weak when he said it out loud. It's what he had told himself every night since Lydia had come to live with him, to help living with the guilt more bearable. It helped to banish the image of the malnourished scared little girl Teddy Walker dropped on his doorstep. "I-I couldn't…" Tears fell helplessly down the broken man's face. Betelgeuse felt nothing.

"Yeah, yeah cry me a fuckin' river." Charles began sobbing in earnest and the ghost scoffed. "Oh, _shut the fuck up_. Pull yourself together, you're pathetic. I'm not done with you yet." The blubbering man was lifted off of the ground by his bathrobe again and deposited in the office chair. Betelgeuse summoned a larger, more ornate rolling chair for himself across from his father-in-law and took a seat. He dug around in his pockets for a moment before he found what he was looking for. The photo was unfolded, flattened, and slid across the desk so that the wreck that was Charles Deetz could get a good look at it.

"You're gonna tell me everything that you know about this guy." The mortal man's gaze sharpened on the photo and his tears stopped. Slowly, he raised his eyes from the Polaroid to his son-in-law's and Betelgeuse saw that there was a bloodlust similar to his own simmering in the blue pools beneath his residual tears. It seemed the two had more in common than either thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Charles Deetz sang. The shit-stain's name was Gregory Green and at one point he had been the heroin kingpin of the Bronx. He liked to use women to move his product. Women, even addicts, were more approachable than geeked out men in trench-coats. Natalya Volkov was just one of many of his girlfriend-dealers. He was arrested along with Lydia's mother following the surprise visit from the social worker on a plethora of charges that made Natalya's illegal activity look like child's play. He didn't last long in prison. A guard let it slip to some of the more violent convicts exactly what Gregory was in for. The inmates at Rikers didn't take too kindly to sharing their block with a kid-fucker, heroin hookup be damned. There were some sins that couldn't be bribed away. He was raped and shanked in the showers on his third day. This was the best case scenario. He'd be easy to find this way. If he was still alive, Betelgeuse would have a much more difficult time of tracking him down, thanks to the limitations placed on his juice by Juno and the powers that be.

His father-in-law reached for his box of cigars, out of habit, only to remember their fate. The searching hand defaulted to running through his gray-streaked blonde hair. "Is any of this information even any good to you? He's dead. What can you even do?" He'd seen Barbara cut and burn herself by accident in the kitchen, Adam stub his toe and trip over his two left feet. There was never a hint of pain in their features when these things happened. They'd just brush themselves off and keep going as if nothing happened.

"There's a hell of a lot I can do." The dead weren't supposed to be able to feel pain. Pain was a sensation reserved for the living. It had taken Betelgeuse centuries to track down the book that taught him how to make the dead experience agony in the same way that they once had. "Hell doesn't exist, pops." He paused to drag his cigarette. The ashtray on Charles' desk was brimming. They'd been talking for hours. The sun was fully risen at this point and the smell of bacon drifted upstairs from the kitchen. "But Gregory's 'bout to be spending the rest of his afterlife there."

Charles Deetz turned his chair so that his profile was facing Betelgeuse. His eyes landed on a framed photo on the wall. It was of a garden spider. Lydia had taken it for him when she was ten; after he'd disclosed to her that yellow was his favorite color. She'd been so excited to find the rural species lurking on a shrub in the terrace of his expensive Manhattan loft and had cried inconsolably when the maintenance man killed it the next day. "Good." A knock at the door knocked him out of it. "Come in."

The door cracked open and a head of sleep-mussed black hair peeked through. "Daddy? B?" Lydia had been disappointed to wake up to an empty bed. It was disconcerting to her to find her husband and her father conversing in the study like they were discussing a business deal. Her father looked like hell, heavy bags under his eyes and hair sticking out at funny angles. She was pleased, however, to see that there wasn't a drop of alcohol anywhere in sight. Random items from his desk littered the floor, though, and she frowned at them. "Did… Did you fight or something? Daddy, have you been up all night?"

Charles lied before Betelgeuse had a chance to. "No, pumpkin, everything's fine, the wind did that." The window was still wide open, and wind did occasionally come gusting through it. "I woke up early and ' _B_ ' and I were just having a talk; nothing that would interest you. Sports, you know, guy stuff." The lie surprised the poltergeist. He'd expected Daddy-in-Law to rat him out the first chance he got.

Lydia raised an eyebrow at her father and then looked back down at the mess on the ground. "Sports?" Last night her father had been ready to take a shotgun to the ghost. And now they were supposedly bonding over sports.

Betelgeuse jumped into the conversation, grinning enthusiastically. He was a better liar than Charles. "Yeah! Your old man's a sucker for the Yankees." There was a mug on the desk that supported the lie. "I was just sharin' some stories 'bout Babe Ruth. You sleep okay, honey?" Lydia's father didn't enjoy lying to her. As much as he was loathed to admit, his bastard son-in-law had no ill intent when he'd banished the whiskey and cigars from his study. The threats and intimidation… It was all for Lydia. That much was clear to him, especially after the ghoul had pulled out the picture that made his heart drop into his stomach and demanded information.

Lydia stared at them both, back and forth, for a long moment before speaking. "Yeah, I slept fine. You really just sat in here… And talked about Baseball?" The two men just smiled big forced smiles and nodded their heads. Lydia's eyes narrowed. "Huh. Well. Okay, then." She didn't believe either of them for a second. Whatever Betelgeuse had said or done to her father had adequately scared him into silence. Her lips pursed as she took in their phony smiles. "Barbara made breakfast; eggs and bacon. She whipped up some apple cinnamon muffins, too." Apple-cinnamon was Lydia's favorite. Barbara made everything from scratch, no pre-mixed packages for her.

Charles' gut churned unpleasantly at the idea of food as he stood from the desk and made his way towards Lydia, who stood in the doorway to his office regarding them both suspiciously. "That sounds lovely, sweetheart, but I think I'm gonna get some more shut eye. Will you have your mother come wake me up before noon?"

"Sure." Lydia was in no mood to have the "she's not my mother" argument for the hundredth time. She accepted the kiss on the forehead with no complaints, and when her father was down the hall and his bedroom door was closed, she shut the door and turned on Betelgeuse. "You promised!" The words were quiet, but they dripped with venom. She was furious, fists shaking at her sides.

"Daddy's still alive and breathin', ain't he? I think you'll be very happy with the outcome of our conversation." He picked up the teeming ashtray off of Charles' desk and shook it around. "Notice anythin'?" There weren't any cigar stubs. Just cigarette butts, her husband's brand. Her father didn't smoke cigarettes. The ashtray was placed back on the desk and Betelgeuse pulled his reluctant wife into his lap in the ornate rolling chair, both arms wrapped around her middle. "We just had a long talk about his health, that's all."

"Then why didn't he just say so?" She replied rebelliously, arms crossed.

"Pride. There are some things a man just doesn't talk about with his kids." The answer was quick and smooth.

Lydia was conflicted. She knew she was being lied to. But her father's health was very important to her. If Betelgeuse had truly been able to get through to him, even if it was through unsavory methods, then it was a victory. "You have to be nice to him, B. We talked about this. I'm not playing around."

The arms around her midsection tightened and a cold head dropped onto her shoulder. "I was nice."

"I thought 'you've never been nice.'" They really needed to stop using one another's words against each other.

A stubbly cheek nuzzled against hers. "I'm nice to _you_." Chapped lips started kissing her neck tenderly. Warmth furled in her center and her arms uncrossed. "C'mon, muffin. Let's get you a muffin."

* * *

"What is _that_?"

Barbara spoke suddenly, grabbing Lydia's wrist to inspect her newest tattoos. Her tone was disapproving. Lydia snatched the arm back and took a big bite out of her muffin. "Birthday present from Nona and Mandy." She spoke through a full mouth. Betelgeuse's bad manners were rubbing off on her. Breakfast was markedly less disastrous than dinner. They were eating in the kitchenette instead of the formal dining room. Neither the Maitlands nor her husband had yet to say anything offensive to the other. Delia also hadn't made an appearance yet, so Lydia hadn't been forced to reconcile with the woman. Adam and Barbara had stayed up all night discussing the recent developments with Lydia and her poltergeist. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but at least they were trying. Lydia was moved by their willingness to adapt. It was more than she could have hoped for.

Barbara frowned, concerned, as she examined the inked on stitches. "That's so… macabre, Lydia."

Lydia shrugged and grabbed another muffin. "They're not that bad." The art style was cartoonish. She could've had the tattoo artist make them grizzlier; bloodier, grittier, life-like. "I almost got open slits instead of stitches."

Betelgeuse laughed out loud at Barbara's grimace. "Consider yourself lucky, Babs. She could've gotten 'No Regrets' across her forehead." Lydia snorted, almost choking on her muffin.

Adam shook his head, sipping his coffee. "I don't understand why you insist on marking yourself up like that. You have such nice skin."

"You know," Lydia began, looking to get a rise out of them, "I was thinking of going to see Johnny while I was here." Johnny Jones was the only tattoo artist in Winter River. He was an old hippie with long white hair and tattoos covering nearly every inch of his skin. He lived on the outskirts of town and ran a tattoo parlor out of his trailer. "The twenty-something artists in Autumn Woods are amateurs. What do you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea!" They all turned their heads at the voice. It was Delia. Ironically enough, Delia was the only member of the Deetz-Maitland family that approved and encouraged Lydia's love of body art, to everyone else's chagrin. "Lydia, would you mind speaking with me privately? There are some important matters I wish to discuss with you." Her stepmother was remarkably fresh looking despite how broken up she'd been the previous night. The woman was fastidiously thick-skinned and had an uncanny ability to bounce back from harsh criticism.

Lydia set down her half eaten muffin and stood from the table. "Yeah, okay." Reluctantly, she left her husband and the Maitlands alone in the kitchen and followed Delia out onto the bizarrely built porch. It made her nervous leaving Betelgeuse alone with her ghostly guardians. She felt that if she wasn't there to monitor them and keep the tenuous peace, things could easily go downhill. But this was a conversation that needed to be had. Guilt from her harsh words for Delia had weighed heavily on her mind since her husband had opened her eyes to the fact that the woman was only human. There was only so much she could do to stop her husband from drinking.

They spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm pregnant."

Lydia's jaw dropped. "You- what- but- but you were _drinking_ last night!"

"Grape juice." Delia smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on her stepdaughter's shoulder. "I haven't told your father yet. I thought telling you first was the right move. That's why I had Barbara invite you up here. I thought you'd be more likely to say yes to her."

Immense guilt crash over Lydia and she cupped both hands over her mouth in mortification. "You're pregnant! Oh, my God. I called you fat. _I'm so sorry_ -"

Delia shook her head and waved off Lydia's apology. "No, no, it's okay. You were upset. Understandably so." Her stepmother tilted her head to the side and smiled a knowing smile. "You know, I had an evil stepmother of my own once upon a time." Lydia had never met Delia's parents and Delia didn't speak of them often. They were well known in the Art world and disapproved of Delia's marriage to a straight-laced business man.

"No!" Lydia disagreed, feeling horrible. "It's not okay. I said terrible things to you. I'm so, so sorry. If I had known I-"

"No, Lydia. Really. It's fine." Her stepdaughter's words had stung deeply, but at the end of the day, Delia knew that the pregnancy hormones were the true reason for her upset. Ordinarily, it took a lot more than a couple insults to get under her skin. "Don't bother yourself over it."

"I thought you didn't want kids." Lydia had clear memories of overhearing her father and her stepmother arguing through the walls of the loft they shared in Manhattan. While Delia had been initially displeased to learn that her husband had a daughter he'd neglected to tell her about, she wasn't going to turn the child away to foster care.

"I didn't." Delia shrugged and smiled whimsically, pulling her bathrobe closer as a chilly breeze blew over them. "I guess I changed my mind." Adam hadn't been lying when he said that Delia missed her. When the Doctor had given her the news at her last checkup, the first image that came to her mind was that of Lydia showing a nameless faceless child with strawberry blonde hair how to work a camera. Instantly, she knew that she wanted to keep it.

After getting over the shock of the news, overwhelming joy coursed through Lydia and she threw her arms around her stepmother's neck in a tight embrace. She could count on one hand how many times they'd hugged. "I can't believe you're pregnant. I'm going to be a sister. Oh my God." Lydia pulled away from the abrupt hug, talking a mile a minute. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? Are you going to have a baby shower? Oh! How are you going to tell Dad? Oh my God! He's going to be so excited! Do you know your due date? How far along are you?"

"Lydia, Lydia, Lydia!" Delia stopped her stepdaughter's ramblings, placing her hands on her shoulders. "I only just found out a couple days ago. I'm six weeks along, I don't have a due date yet, and no I don't know if it's a boy or a girl. I was hoping that you and I could tell your father together this weekend; as a family. Barbara and Adam don't even know. You're the first person I've told."

"I…" Lydia was dumbstruck. Never in a million years would she have thought that Delia would prioritize her in such a way, trust her with such a secret, and come to _her_ for validation. She wiped away a lone tear that escaped from the corner of her right eye. "Yeah. I'd love that. I… Uhm…" Lydia trailed off, fiddling with her hands and looking at her feet. "I love you." She'd never spoken those words to her stepmother before.

Delia wiped away a stray tear of her own and pulled Lydia into another tight hug.

"I love you, too."


	8. Chapter 8

"I love what you've done with your hair, Babs." Barbara's eye twitched at the poltergeist's mocking compliment. "Highlights?" She and Adam had yet to figure out how to change their appearance the same way that he could. They couldn't even change clothes. They'd tried, but their original outfits- her floral farm dress and Adam's khaki slacks and blue plaid button up- would replace them within minutes. She'd come to loathe the dress. The night they'd almost met their permanent ends at the hands of Delia's ignorant rotund interior decorator, Otho, had been the last time they'd worn anything other than their death clothes. Her hand spitefully snatched up the last muffin before Betelgeuse had a chance to. He'd already had four.

"No more muffins for you." The last muffin was wrapped in saran wrap and placed on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. Then, Barbara began work on the dishes.

"How'd ya bag a gal like this, four-eyes? Cookin' n' cleanin' for ya and you don't even have ta cut a check? _Way_ out of your league."

Adam glared at him over the top of the copy of the _Winter River Gazette_ he'd been perusing. "I _courted_ her. It's this thing where you take a girl out to dinner and the movies and give her flowers. You've probably never heard of it. It doesn't involve conning or intimidation."

As if on cue, Lydia and Delia came back inside from the porch. There were big joyous smiles on their faces, and Lydia especially seemed to be humming with excitement. _'Guess they made up.'_ Betelgeuse stood and bowed low before his wife, presenting her with a conjured bouquet of blood-red roses. "Milady," Adam grunted and hid his scowl behind the newspaper.

Lydia giggled and took the overflowing bouquet into her arms. "What's this for?"

He dropped down to one knee and took her ring-bearing hand in his to kiss. "Lydia Elisabeta Deetz," he began, over-enunciating every syllable of her name, putting on a show for Adam, "Those weeds can only hope to one day compare to your haunting beauty! The sun goes to bed every day crying tears of jealousy because it will never shine as brightly as your smile!" His gravelly voice had taken on a more proper dialect for the melodramatic speech. "The moon rises every night wishing for your death because then it would take your place as the most luminous being in the galaxy! The stars in the night sky are nothing but cheap rhinestones when compared to the freckles in your irises! Your voice is lovelier, more melodic than Aphrodite's most prized songbird! Speaking of Aphrodite, she-"

Lydia stopped him, hitting him upside the head with her bouquet. Petals drifted to the tiled floor in its wake. "Stop that. It's creepy." Her smile was gone and she was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Delia, however, was swooning, leaning against the wall with both hands clutching her heart. Even Barbara seemed to have a rebellious pink tinge in her undead cheeks as she scrubbed the muffin tin. Adam seethed silently behind the newspaper. "Get up, Romeo." Lydia tugged him up from his knee with the hand still held in his grasp. "You're coming into town with me."

* * *

They walked. He wore his mortal skin for her so that she wouldn't look insane walking through the streets of Winter River talking to herself. Today, he looked like a greaser; leather pants, jacket, and boots and a white muscle shirt. If the Maitlands and her parents were determined to see him as the bad guy, then he'd dress the part. She'd laughed hysterically at the getup and made several jokes at his expense, but still chose an outfit to compliment his; a blinding white sundress, her signature combat boots, and a leather jacket that had just as many fake zippers on it as his. The finishing touch was a coat of her favorite glittery black lipstick, the lipstick she'd worn the night of their reunion. As soon as they were out of earshot of the Deetz residence, Lydia stopped walking and grabbed his hand to turn him to face her. "Delia's pregnant!"

"Huh." His lips pursed and a fiercely angled brow rose in consideration. "Didn't think Chuck had it in him."

"Honestly, me neither." They started up back in the direction of town. Lydia wanted to visit the bookstore, Goodwill, and the man responsible for the majority of her tattoos. "No one else knows yet. Just you, me, and Delia. That's why we were invited up here this weekend. Delia wants me and her to tell my father together."

" _Ugh_. Do I have to be there? That sounds just fuckin' awful. Your Dad will cry, and then Red will cry, then those two losers hauntin' your folk's place will cry. You'll _definitely_ cry. Not my scene, babe."

"Of course you don't have to be there! You didn't have to come here period. Go to the Neitherworld or a Bar or something, I don't care. You'd probably make it awkward, anyway. I'm just so excited! There's gonna be a baby around! I've never held a baby before. I've always kinda wanted a little brother or sister. I hope it likes me."

"Kid's gonna love ya." She was warm and soft like a mom should be. There was a confusing moment where he lamented that he'd never be able to impregnate her. It was confusing because not once in his life or afterlife had the desire to have children ever overcome him. She would have had beautiful children, would be a wonderful mother. Lydia was old enough that she'd probably end up having more of an Aunt-like relationship with the impending child than sisterly. _'Dear God,'_ he thought suddenly, horrified. _'That makes me Uncle.'_

"Let's just hope it looks more like Delia than your old man."

Lydia elbowed him half-heartedly. "Oh, hush. My father is a very handsome man, thank you very much. Besides, if you think my Dad's ugly, then that means you think I'm at least half ugly."

" _Yeah, whatever._ You lucked out. You look like a carbon copy of your Ma, and let me tell you, babe, that woman is a stone cold fuckin' fox if I've ever seen one."

His wife scoffed and he could sense the subtle change in her demeanor. Before, she had been thrumming with excitement. That excitement receded as she thought of her mother. "Maybe twenty years ago she was. I dunno. I've never visited her. Who knows what she looks like now? Maybe prison-orange is her color."

"Do you _want_ to visit her?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side as they walked. They'd crossed the bridge into town by this point in their trek and were getting looks from strangers. The people of Winter River were already familiar with strange and unusual Lydia Deetz, she was old news. It was the man that held her so possessively, who walked with a swagger in his step- as if he owned the place- that had their attention.

"I don't know. I don't remember a lot about her. By the time she got locked up she was so fucked in the head that she probably doesn't even remember me. My babushka wants me to since she can't herself. She lives in Moscow, can't afford an international trip. Oh!" Lydia stopped suddenly. "I forgot about my grandpa's note! I need to get that to her! But how to do it…"

"You could, _I don't fuckin' know_ , babe, hand it to her?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. They started walking again.

"No, I can't. My babushka _cannot_ know that I'm married to a ghost who takes me on field trips to the afterlife to visit dead relatives. Best case scenario, she calls up a priest and tries to have you exorcised. Worst case scenario, she drops dead on the spot. No, I have to slip it to her in such a way that she thinks it was something he wrote while he was still alive and that she's just now finding it."

He followed her as she walked into a small bookstore. The owner eyed them warily but said nothing. Lydia had been a regular frequenter of this establishment when she lived here, so she had the book keeper's trust. The dangerous looking biker was a different story.

* * *

"I know!" Lydia began suddenly as they left the book shop. She'd picked up an antique copy of Grimm's Fairytales, several Dr. Seuss books, and the newest Stephen King volume for herself. The other books were for the kid. She knew it was premature, but she wanted Delia to be prepared. "I could put the note in her mailbox! She won't know how it got there, and it'll still be magical and romantic." Betelgeuse carried the bag of books for her.

"Jesus Christ, Lyds, you're gonna give me fuckin' cavities."

"You're such a faker."

He glared at her sideways and slung the bag of books over his shoulder. They were approaching Goodwill now. "I don't fake shit."

"Yuh-huh, yes you do. You act like such a hard-ass, like crying and babies and old people in love don't affect you. But I know you better than that now, Betelgeuse. You're just a big softie on the inside. It's all an act." He sneered and opened the door for her despite his current annoyance with her. "I bet you're gonna spoil this baby rotten."

"Keep it up, Lyds, n' I'll teach the brat ta eat bugs." He might anyway, just to get under Daddy-in-Law's skin. Lydia just laughed out loud, supremely amused by the idea, and began searchingthrough the dresses.

* * *

He juiced all of her purchases back to her makeshift room back at her parents before they started up in the direction of Johnny Jones' trailer. She mostly picked up more oversized T-shirts to cut up and sleep in, but she'd lucked across a long black gypsy skirt that instantly made the cut without her even bothering to try it on. "You can go back home and hang out with my parents if this is boring you." She'd said while picking through the discount bin. He fixed her with a deadpan that told her everything she needed to know about what he thought of that idea. They were walking hand in hand along a sidewalk that ran parallel to the Winter River, now.

"So let me get this straight… We're goin' ta see the old perverted fuck that got ta see ya half naked under the guise of inkin' you up?"

"Come on, Beej. This jealousy thing is getting really old. And you have absolutely no room to call anyone else perverted."

He stopped abruptly, almost making her trip. " _What the fuck_ did you just call me?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and then grinned up at him teasingly. "Oh, so you get to butcher my name seven ways from Sunday but I don't get to give you any nicknames? B. Beej. BJ. Baby Bug." She'd stepped closer to him with each consecutive pet name until her index finger was toying with the collar of his muscle tee. "I don't think that's fair."

"That's right, it's not fair." He wrapped both arms around her and dipped her low, making her squeak in surprise. "But that's how it is, short stack." He licked her cheek, a long wet lick, instead of kissing her like she expected. His wife scrunched up her face in response and arched away from him. "Ew! Gross!" Betelgeuse cackled and pulled her back up from the dip. "Gross? This comin' from the babe that handles venomous spiders the same way she handles kittens?"

"Spiders are cute!" She kept walking without him, knowing he'd follow, and rubbed at her wet cheek furiously. "Your tongue is just slimy and cold."

He smacked her backside and she glowered at him over her shoulder. "As I recall, you like my slimy cold tongue. A lot. I can remind ya why if ya like."

Instead of blushing and changing the subject, as she'd done in the past when faced with sexual propositions from him, she smirked deviously over her shoulder and sent him a naughty wink. "Maybe later, _BJ_." There was an evil implication in the way she said "BJ" that went straight to his balls. Lydia had yet to go down on him, and he hadn't pushed her on it. He didn't know exactly what Gregory fucking Green had done to her and he didn't want to know. He had no way of knowing which, if any, sexual acts might trigger some horrible memory in her and wished to avoid that at all costs. So far nothing they'd done had. _So far_. Their sexual relationship was brand spankin' new. Every pleasurable act they'd participated in had been fairly vanilla, in his book anyway. He had restrained himself in her bedroom after her kissing game with Nona when he'd wanted to stuff a ball gag in her mouth and tie her up spread eagle to her four poster bed. In Jaipur, he'd wanted to take his belt to her backside, but had relented and used his hand instead. It was torture, being patient with her when all he wanted was to introduce her to every dark, filthy, nasty pleasure that he was privy to. But, like Mandy had told him back at the strip club the night he'd confessed his love for Lydia, they had an eternity. This waiting period was just a drop in the ocean.

They'd passed the end of the suburbs a while ago. He could vaguely see a trailer in the distance, shaded by a willow tree. "I want you to be nice to Johnny. He's not a pervert, his wife died of breast cancer a couple of years ago and they were really, really in love. She's actually the one who did my raven. He was really nice to me when I was in high school and didn't have any friends- showed me how to roll a joint. He also doesn't know about you or the Maitlands, so let's keep that on the down-low."

"Alright, alright. But if I'm a 'softie' it's because you're turnin' me into one." She wouldn't think he was made of mush on the inside if she knew exactly what he'd done to Noah, if she knew what he had planned for the piece of shit that molested her.

"I can live with that." They were approaching the trailer now. Lydia knocked. There was coughing and shuffling on the other side of the door. "Hold on a minute!" His wife laughed out loud and shouted back in response, "It's Lydia! You can leave your pot out!" Not a second later the door opened and marijuana smoke poured out through the entrance. The man who answered was older, late 50's to early 60's, and he had a shock of thick, long hair that was just as white as Lydia's was black. He wore jeans and a Grateful Dead Tee and every inch of his skin, with the exception of his face and the palms of his hands, was covered with ink.

"Raincloud!" The man may have been approaching senior citizenship, but he had a youthful energy about him that rivaled most twenty-somethings. Lydia smiled brightly at the man and the two shared a brief hug. "Who's this?" Johnny was gesturing to Betelgeuse, a warm smile on his face. "Don't tell me my little raincloud has finally found some thunder to join in on her storm!"

"Actually, Johnny, this is my husband."

The tattoo artist's eyes widened in surprise before he took Betelgeuse's hand in his own and shook it vigorously. "I never thought I'd see the day! Well, come on in! Mi casa es su casa! You must be freezing! Your hand's ice cold!"

The couple was ushered inside and Betelgeuse put on his best, most charming smile. "I'm fine, my blood just runs cold," Lydia smirked at the joke. "I gotta tell ya, I really dig that piece you did on Lyds' back, the snake. Ya did a fantastic job."

Johnny relaxed back in his recliner and passed the blunt he'd been smoking on before their arrival to her husband. He shrugged, toked it once, and then passed it Lydia's way. The couple took a seat on the couch. "I should hope so. It took me hours and several appointments to complete. Now," The older man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared them both down. "Why wasn't I invited to the wedding?"

Lydia laughed nervously and placed a hand on her husband's knee. "We eloped! It was a spur of the moment kinda thing." It was disconcerting to her how easily the lie slid from her lips. Betelgeuse really was rubbing off on her.

Johnny's serious expression remained and he regarded her husband. "What's your name, son?"

"Benjamin Geist, Sir. Just call me B, everyone does." It shocked Lydia to hear her husband refer to Johnny as "sir." It was eerie. This is how she imagined it would go if she had introduced a man to her father under normal circumstances. But Betelgeuse wasn't a scared teenage boy and Johnny was by no means her father.

"Okay, B, well you can stop kissing my ass now. I'm not a 'sir' and I never have been." Internally, Betelgeuse seethed at the remark, but his charming countenance remained. This is what he gets for being a sap and obeying every stupid little request his wife sent his way. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm in the extermination business." It pissed him off to no end that he was being given the third degree by a geezer he'd been ready to juice to an early grave for the sin of touching Lydia's exquisite flesh. He had been nice and decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt and this is what he got in return.

Johnny's serious expression dissolved into chuckles and he accepted the blunt that Lydia passed his way. "Life never ceases to amaze me with its little jokes! A woman who loves all living creatures with all of her heart finds love with a merchant of death!" Lydia flushed lightly at the remark. She had yet to tell her husband that she loved him. She didn't even know if she did. She wasn't exactly sure what love was. It was too soon for her to make any sort of declarations. "I wish you both all of the happiness in the world. I only wish I could've been there on the big day to join in on the joyous occasion."

' _No, Johnny. You really, really don't.'_ Lydia thought darkly.

"Let an old fool impart a little wisdom on you kids." Betelgeuse internally scoffed at the remark but nodded his head with feigned interest regardless. The geezer had only existed for a fraction of the time that he had. He highly doubted that the man had anything to say that would leave an impression.

"Love is rare, real love. I had it once with my Becca and I know that I'll never have it again. When you find it, you hold onto it. With everything you have. There will be days where you won't be able to stand the sight of one another. There will be times where you'll want to give up and throw away everything you've built together. You have to power through that. You have to fall in love over and over again, for different reasons each time. With the right person, that part's easy. I want you two to remember that all the petty shit is temporary." His sad stormy eyes glided to a framed photo hanging on the wall above the couch. It was of two teenagers, a boy and a girl. The boy was wearing a joke tuxedo shirt and the girl wore a cheap white dress that cost her 25 cents at the thrift store and a crown of daisies. A morose smile curved Johnny's lips.

"You never know which day together will be your last."


	9. Chapter 9

They didn't leave Johnny's until twilight fell over Winter River. Betelgeuse was a perfect gentleman for her old friend. He was himself, but he wasn't. For example, he accepted the marijuana every time it was passed his way and he'd _never_ smoked pot with her before. He didn't say crass, vulgar things about her in Johnny's presence, either. It was almost as if he didn't want to bait the old man. Almost like he wanted Johnny to… like him? He behaved with the tattoo artist the way that she wished he would with her parents and the Maitlands.

It was disconcerting.

A call from Delia reminded Lydia what time it was. Her stepmother couldn't bear to wait another day to spill the beans to her father, so the plan was to tell him tonight at dinner. Amicable goodbyes were said, Betelgeuse shook Johnny's hand, said it was "a pleasure to make his acquaintance," and with that, she and her husband departed.

"What the fuck was that?" Lydia confronted him as soon as they were out of earshot of the trailer.

"Whatcha talkin' 'bout?" He seemed genuinely caught off guard. It was an odd look on him, especially when worn alongside his glamour.

"I'm talking about you smoking pot! And calling Johnny 'sir'! And just in general not acting like a jackass!"

"I thought you wanted me to be nice?" He looked so confused it was almost cute. Almost. Betelgeuse was never cute.

"Yeah, but you've never actually listened to me before. Not like that. If you're capable of putting on this respectable young man act then why don't you do that for my father? Or Delia? Or the Maitlands?"

"'Cause they already know who I am. No point in it, waste o' time. Besides, your old man's a dipshit. He doesn't deserve my respect."

Lydia didn't feel like having that particular argument. "So? It might make them worry about me less. That's not a waste of time."

"Maybe I want them to worry about you." There wasn't a hint of a joke in his voice. His eyes were almost black in the encroaching shadows of night. "Maybe they should be worried about you." In an instant, his illusion disappeared and he was himself once more, leaving her alone again in the eyes of any onlookers. Not that there were any that she could see.

Lydia scoffed and tugged her jacket closer. It was another chilly evening. "Yeah? What should they be worried about?" The streetlamps all died at once, drenching them in darkness. Lydia just kept walking, unafraid. "Oh. No. Not the dark. Anything but the dark." She deadpanned, immensely unimpressed. His footsteps did not echo behind hers. A look over her shoulder confirmed that he was gone. "Are you really trying to scare me? We've been through this before." The howling wind was the only answer she got. "Okay. You want to play? Let's play."

Every street she turned onto on her way home had its lamps mysteriously cut off. The sun was fully set now and the moon and stars were obscured behind thick clouds. There was no light to reflect the street signs. She squinted up at one, trying her best to read it to no avail. No matter. She knew the way home. After a while, though, the cookie-cutter houses started to blend together in the unforgiving shadows. Before Lydia knew what was happening, she was lost. The town she'd spent so many years in had been transformed into a labyrinth. She attempted to use her phone's flashlight, only for the thing to die in her hands at seventy percent battery. "Very funny, B! Fucking hilarious!" The concrete turned to dirt and twigs beneath her feet and she found herself in a forest. Rebelliously, she stomped onwards. The change in scenery was unsettling, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of her fear.

A low growl emitted from the darkness. She stopped and looked around. It seemed to be coming from all around her. Tendrils of instinctive panic shot through her despite herself. She took a deep breath and kept walking. A pair of gleaming crimson eyes stared out at her from the darkness for a long moment and she paused her steps, waiting. They blinked once, twice, and on the third, they did not open again. _'He can't hurt me. He wouldn't hurt me.'_ This mantra was repeated in her mind several times until her heart rate slowed. She continued through the haunted forest bravely. "Werewolves, B? How eighties. What's next? Vampires? More zombies? Hit me with your best shot." An invisible ice cold hand ran up her inner thigh. She just kept walking, unfazed. "You know, I do actually have plans tonight. Why don't you just get on with it already? Scare me. I'm waiting."

She jumped involuntarily when a gruff voice whispered in her ear, _"Patience."_ The raven-haired girl could see small lights in the distance through the thicket… house windows. The closer she walked toward them, though, the further away they got. She pushed onward, shuffling through bushes and shoving branches out of the way. Further and further and further away the lights got until once again, she was cloaked in seedy shadows. With a frustrated humph, she took off her jacket and used it as a cushion as she sat down on the forest floor. Something shuffled behind her and she snapped her spine around to look. Nothing could be seen. She screamed, however, when hands wrapped around her ankles and pulled sharply, laying her out flat on the forest floor. Her husband was atop her, supporting himself on one elbow while his other hand played with her hair. His grin was easy and amused. She glared and pushed his chest with both hands. He would not be moved. "Jump scares are cheap and they don't count. Keep trying."

His grin vanished. And then he did, then her clothes. She tried to bring her arms up to cover her chest, but roots from the ground wrapped around her wrists. Her ankles were snared as well and then she was splayed bare on the forest floor, arms and legs stretching her body out taught, but not painfully so; just enough to be slightly uncomfortable. "Sexual assault via an evil forest?" At this point, Lydia was just annoyed. "Do you not have a single original idea? Are you gonna come after me with a knife in the shower a la _Pyscho_ next? Is Jason Voorhees gonna pop out of one of these bushes and slice me up now? Jesus, B. How is it possible that I'm the first person you've failed to scare? I thought you were the 'ghost with the most.' You disappoint me."

Oh, she was asking for it. The roots tightened punishingly around her limbs. A diabolical figure cloaked all in black emerged from the surrounding woods. His face was obscured by a black hoodie and he held a bright red gasoline canteen. She coughed and sputtered as the figure doused her, head to toe, with the toxic substance. It was not lost on Lydia that none of it managed to get into her eyes, nose, or mouth. The smell was horrendous, though, and she could feel brain cells dying as she breathed in the fumes. A demonic string of gargled words echoed from beneath the hood. _"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."_ It stood in between her spread legs menacingly and pulled a zippo lighter out of its pocket. _"Say uncle."_ Betelgeuse's disembodied voice whispered in her ear as the specter brought the flame in his hand to life. Even with the dismal fire, the only light in the area, its face was still obscured. Lydia craned her neck up and stared hard at the black abyss beneath the hood, teeth bared. "Do it."

Evil communist witch! Damn her! How dare she call his bluff! In an instant, every single one of his illusions fell away. She was dry of gasoline and clothed, and the damp soil beneath her transformed into the white paneling that wrapped around the outside of her parent's home. The roots around her wrists were replaced by one of her husband's calloused hands, holding them together high above her head. He was sneering down at her, a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Lydia smirked. "Game Over. I win, you lose. That was fun, though. Let's play again sometime."

" _Oh-ho-ho_ , you're so fuckin' lucky, Lydia." He found her lack of fear equal parts infuriating and arousing. Lydia grinned madly, high off of her supreme victory, and wrapped one of her legs around his hips to pull his groin flush with hers.

"Don't insult me. Luck has nothing to do with it and you know it. You wouldn't hurt me even if you could."

His free hand came up to hold his cigarette and he blew a cool stream of smoke into her face. She inhaled as he did and blew it back at him. "You seem really sure of that." His cigarette was discarded in favor of conjuring his favorite switchblade and running it lightly across the smooth column of pale flesh along her throat. Still, even with her precious life balancing precariously in his hands, she allowed him the privilege of touching her.

"Yeah." She quipped back, without the slightest hint of hesitation, daring him to prove her wrong. "I am."

" _God, I love you_." The switchblade disappeared and her wrists were released. One of his hands tangled in her hair and the other hiked up her other leg so that she was completely wrapped around him and pressed flush against the uncomfortable paneling. Her slight weight was supported by his hips pressing brutally against hers. Their kiss was vicious, animalistic, on account of both parties. No one was in charge. Her arms wrapped around his neck, hands fisting the material of his suit jacket while his own hands slid to her ass to squeeze and grind her against his erection. Her underwear had not been reinstated with the rest of her clothes. With some quick sleight of hand and maneuvering, his cock was buried deep inside of her and his hand was covering her mouth to muffle her groans. It was a quick, depraved, savage fuck. She was still sore, but she had no desire to deny him, not with all of the adrenaline coursing through her from her supernatural walk through the woods. Her legs tightened around him and her teeth bit his filthy hands as he hammered her into the side of her parent's house, grunting with each thrust. She'd definitely have bruises on her back. He was spent quickly. It was a good thing, too, because she could vaguely hear the front door opening around the corner, someone stepping out onto the porch.

Betelgeuse kissed her forehead softly as they separated, her legs dropping back down to the ground. A cold arm around her waist kept her from collapsing to the dirt. "I'm gonna go now, baby." The words were whispered so that they could remain hidden from whoever it was lurking around the corner. Lydia's hands grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and pulled him down for a sweet, gentle goodbye kiss. Her black lipstick was smudged all around her mouth- and his- and she was looking at him the way she had looked at that ugly portrait in his roadhouse. "Please don't stay gone too long." He had business to attend to, business that she wouldn't want to know anything about. Business that he would never tell her of. "I'll do my best." She frowned at the indirect answer and pulled him down once more for another kiss. When they parted this time, he winked at her and disappeared. He couldn't stay another moment. She made it so difficult to leave, clutching at him and kissing him and looking at him with that crestfallen little furrow in her brows. Broke his heart to leave her. But they both had prior commitments that needed attending to; her with her parents and the Maitlands to make the big announcement to Daddy-in-Law.

Betelgeuse, he had a date with Gregory Green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are unaware, Lydia's referencing a famous scene from The Evil Dead with the line "sexual assault via an evil forest."


	10. Chapter 10

Delia was waiting on the porch, looking out into the distance for any signs of her stepdaughter and unconventional son-in-law. She jumped with surprise when Lydia came around the corner of the house. "Lydia! You almost gave me a heart attack! Where's…" She trailed off; taking in her stepdaughter's smudged lipstick and wrinkled dress. A knowing smirk curled her lips and she ushered Lydia inside quietly. "Your father's in the dining room and Adam and Barbara are in the kitchen. Why don't you go upstairs and fix your lipstick before dinner?" The words were whispered conspiratorially. A mortified blush stained Lydia's cheeks.

"Is that Lydia?" Barbara called from the kitchen.

" _Go!"_ Delia shout-whispered, shooing Lydia up the stairs.

Dinner was every bit as sappy as her husband had predicted that it would be. Delia was thankful for the ghost's absence. Lydia was the one to present her father with the envelope containing a photo of Delia's ultrasound, barely able to contain her excitement. The dam broke, however, when her father clapped a hand over his mouth and looked at her stepmother with swimming blue eyes. "Is it true?" Her own blue eyes were wet as she nodded her head yes. The most heart-wrenching moment of the night by far, though, was when Barbara dropped her cutlery in shock and turned to her ghostly husband, bleary eyed. "Adam…" She'd said, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks. "We're having a baby." Tears of joy were shed all around. It was late in the night before anyone departed for bed.

Lydia was disappointed to find her old bedroom empty and uncomfortably warm. She lay in the darkness for a long time, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what it was that he could be doing. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse." She tested. He didn't come. And he didn't come the next morning either when she tried again. "Where is he?" Adam asked over breakfast. Lydia shrugged noncommittally and stabbed her yolk with her fork until it bled all over the egg whites. "The Neitherworld. Didn't want to be here for the announcement. He probably just lost track of time." Mr. Maitland didn't press her further. He'd known her long enough to know when she was pretending not to be upset.

* * *

He didn't return the whole weekend. Lydia did not allow her distress to show through to her parents or the Maitlands, and they had no complaints about his absence. Lydia was the one they'd wanted to see, not him. Her father drove her back to Autumn Woods Sunday night, seeing as she'd left her car there in favor of magical travel. Lydia was quiet, solemn the whole drive. Her father knew better than to rub it in her face that the poltergeist had yet to return. Her silence killed whatever smug sense of superiority he might have felt. When he pulled up to her complex, they kissed each other on the cheek and said their goodbyes. The apartment was empty. Nona and Mandy were working. Their furniture was still pushed against the wall. The salt circle was intact. The book lay open in the center of the floor on a different page than the one it had been on when she'd left for Winter River. She paid it no mind.

" _Pale Mistress! Pale Mistress! Luna missed her Pale Mistress!"_ The tiny kitten rubbed herself against Lydia's ankles until she was picked up.

"Hello, precious. I missed you, too." The raven-haired girl carried the kitten with her to her room, leaving her suitcase behind in the living room. The two curled up on her bed, Lydia in the fetal position and Luna tucked under her chin.

" _Why is Pale Mistress sad?"_

Lydia clenched her eyes shut, willing her paranoid thoughts away. "I'm fine."

" _Is it because Master is gone?"_

The girl said nothing and snuggled the kitten closer. Luna slept in Lydia's room that night.

* * *

It was impossible to focus on her classwork. Her gaze blurred on the blackboard and her thoughts flew away from her. The professor's droning transformed into a dull buzz in her ears. The sheet in front of her that should have been filled with notes was blank. _"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."_ She whispered to herself lowly once more, not giving a damn that she was in the middle of class. Again, he didn't come. Mandy and Nona caught her in the parking lot between classes. Her friends were overjoyed at the news of Delia's pregnancy, but their joy was tainted by Lydia's solemn demeanor. They were sitting in her car now, discretely sharing a joint.

"I don't know where he went," Lydia answered when the English girl inquired about the lack of her husband's presence. "And I don't know when he's coming back. If he's coming back."

Mandy frowned, sympathetic. "Don't think like that! Of course, he's coming back!"

"What if something's wrong? What if a sandworm ate him? What if he did something really, really bad and they arrested him? I don't fucking know how it works down there. Everything's crazy and upside down." The other two girls did not stop to ask Lydia what in the living fuck a sandworm was. "What if-", her voice broke, involuntary tears wetting her cheeks. "What if he met some really beautiful dead girl that isn't all fucked up like me?" She buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she confessed her fears.

Nona shushed her, pulling the sobbing girl into a hug. "Then he's the stupidest man I've ever met. But that's not what's going on, so stop talking like that. He loves you, Lydia. He'd never." Lydia did not reply.

Mandy put a hand on her friend's shaking shoulder. "Let's go out tonight. Lucy's throwing a house party." Lucy was a fellow exotic dancer. "You can't dwell on this, babe." A sob wracked her entire body at the nickname. "You just can't. He'll be back. I know he will." Again, Lydia did not respond.

* * *

Lucy Allen was a wild child from California. Her townhouse was already packed by the time they arrived in Mandy's Mustang. She greeted them all warmly- already quite drunk- with tight hugs and kisses on the cheek. Lydia returned the hug, just going through the motions. She was trying to follow Mandy's advice, she really was. It was hard to banish her darker thoughts. She broke away from the group and made her way to the kitchen where she knew the alcohol would be. She just wanted to be numb. The crowd parted like the red sea for her. She wore all black tonight; flip-flops, the gypsy skirt she'd snagged from Goodwill and a black lacy bralette beneath a see-through mesh top. The first two shots of cheap whip cream flavored vodka went down burning. A popular dance song that Lydia disliked immensely bumped the house, giving her a headache. The third shot burned less than the first two.

"Like, leave some for the rest of us, Deetz."

Lydia looked over her shoulder from where she was hunched over the plastic foldout table. Claire Brewster was beautiful in her hot pink tube dress. "Don't worry. There's still half a bottle of Kahlua left if you want me to start a pot of coffee for you." Her words slurred. Claire gaped at her, open-mouthed. Lydia had never talked back to her before. The goth always ignored her when she tormented her. It's what made her such an easy target. "Is your rapist boyfriend here, too? Or is he too busy fucking your best friend?" She noticed that Claire still wore the obnoxiously large diamond encrusted gold band on her ring finger. Not that she had any room to judge the ornateness of another woman's engagement ring.

Claire's hands fisted at her side, her matching hot pink nails cutting into her palms, and she grit her teeth. "Josh is like totally in love with me! And he never touched that disgusting whore! She's a filthy liar and everyone knows it!"

Lydia just laughed darkly and poured herself a fourth shot, making Claire's cheeks burn. The raven-haired girl coughed as it went down. Once she was stable, she turned, hands clutching the rickety table behind her to keep her purchase. "I bet it eats you up inside, doesn't it? Knowing that you'll never be good enough. You know your little boyfriend took pictures of my best friend while he was raping her. There's actual photographic evidence. I saw it at court. You would have too if you were there." Claire's blood ran cold at her words. Lydia tilted her head, genuinely sympathetic. "What did he say to get you to stay home instead of going? That it was all lies and he didn't want you to see them smear him? That it was all too dark and nasty for your poor little woman brain to handle? That's how misogynistic pigs generally think."

"You're lying!" Claire was shaking her head, tears swimming in her crystalline eyes.

Lydia smiled sadly. "You have no idea how badly I wish that I was. I can email them to you if you want. My lawyer has copies. It's some pretty gruesome shit, though. I don't think you want to see it." Claire stormed from the room, unable to bear another word. Lydia took another shot.

Mandy and Nona found her about fifteen minutes later sitting by herself on the empty balcony, chain smoking. Mandy sat next to her and Nona lit a cigarette of her own. "Josh is here," Mandy said quietly, laying her head on Lydia's shoulder. "We shouldn't have come. We should've just gotten drunk at home." Lydia's hand grasped hers tightly. It was Nona's turn to be the designated driver, so she was the only sober one of the three. Though, Lydia was significantly drunker than both of them. The sober girl was scowling and remained silent. Their solemnity was out of place at the wild house party. "Nona," Mandy began, eyes closed. "Can you take us home after ya'll are done with your cigarettes? This was a bad idea." Nona just nodded her head, staring hard at a hanging potted plant.

" _WHERE IS SHE?"_

There was a commotion inside that caused all three of them to break out of their reverie and stare at each other, puzzled. Before they could gather their bearings and investigate, Josh Peters slammed open the balcony doors. "YOU!" His gaze was locked on Lydia. He was furious, and his face and polo were soaked. He smelled strongly of alcohol. Mandy tensed up. Nona stepped in front of him, blocking his gaze. "What the fuck do you think-", he backhanded her, causing her to fall to the side and almost topple right over the edge of the banister. His sweaty hand grabbed Lydia by the throat and picked her up, slamming her against the wall. She saw stars as her head was knocked back. He easily had a foot and a hundred pounds on her. "What the fuck did you say to Claire, you fucking bitch!?" The hand around her throat tightened and Lydia scratched at it. He held fast. Mandy clutched at his shirt, trying to pull him off of her friend. He elbowed her hard, making her fall back to the ground with a gasp, holding her stomach in pain. A crowd was gathering out on the patio, but none of them tried to help. They just watched. "SHE LEFT ME! She threw my ring into the fucking pool! You ugly," his other hand joined in on choking her and his grip tightened further, "lying," her vision was going black, "SLUT!"

All at once, she was released. Josh flew backward, knocking over some members of the crowd, and Lydia fell to the ground, gasping. Where before the house had been unbearably loud, it was now dead silent. Nona grabbed her hand, and Mandy's, and pulled them through the crowd. It parted for them easily. Everything was moving so fast. Staring, horrified faces blurred as Nona pulled them to the Mustang. Lydia stumbled on her way down the steps and Nona steadied her with a hand around her back. Before she knew what was happening, they were on the road.

"What happened? Who pulled him off me? Everything's so fuzzy…" Lydia's stomach churned unpleasantly and her mouth watered from nausea.

"I did. Telekenisis." Nona answered, coffee eyes trained hard on the road before her. Mandy was shaking, too upset for words. The rest of the trip was spent in shocked silence.

Lydia threw up in the parking lot as they arrived back home. Nona held back her long hair and Mandy rubbed her back, then they helped her up the stairs. Luna's voice greeted them excitedly as they stumbled through the door.

" _Master is home! Master is home!"_ When the kitten's words registered in Lydia's intoxicated mind, she raised her incredibly heavy feeling head. There he was, floating on his back and filing his filthy nails into points as if he'd always been there. His grin was self-satisfied.

"I was wonderin' when you gals would get home. I've been waitin'-", his smile faded and he stopped talking abruptly when he turned his head to the side and saw them. There was vomit on his wife's skirt and dark red marks around her neck. Nona and Mandy's faces were grim, deadly serious. Nona's left cheek was a darker shade than the rest of her caramel skin, a telling bruise blossoming. Mandy was almost as white as Lydia. Immediately, he darted to them and took Lydia into his arms, taking the burden off of her friends. "B…" She smiled dreamily, clearly drunk, and rested her heavy head against his chest. "I didn't think you were coming back…" Her eyes drifted closed before he could answer. She was out. He pulled her in impossibly close, tucking her head under his chin protectively. "Two down, one to go," Nona growled before he had a chance to demand information.

"I want Josh Peters dead, Betelgeuse. I want him dead tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of torture. You have been warned.

"You n' me are gonna play a game, Gregory."

The vermin had been laughably easy to find. All Betelgeuse needed was a name and cause of death. Ordinarily, he loved to torture. It was fun, his second favorite hobby next to fucking his hot wife. He found no joy in this, though. Every time his eyes landed on the pleading, miserable face of Gregory Green all he could think of was that photo of little Lydia at the theater tucked away safely in his pocket. The insect was splayed against the concrete wall in his torture chamber, bare as the day he had died.

"Please stop, man, please c'mon I didn't do anything, dude. I didn't, I swear!"

Betelgeuse examined his tools on the metal tray off to the side, biting his tongue in consideration. "What to use, what to use… I'm sorry, did you say somethin'? I don't speak bitch." He picked up a blowtorch and activated it, testing. Gregory screamed. Bingo. "We're gonna play a little game called I burn down each of your fingers and toes to nubs, one at a time, until you can guess why I'm doin' this. Ready?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Scream" is an inaccurate word to describe the horrible sounds that were ripped from Gregory's throat as Betelgeuse began his work on an unlucky thumb. What was great about torturing the dead is that they could never fully succumb to the pain and lose consciousness, so the poltergeist didn't have to hold back. The smell of burning undead flesh filled the chamber. Betelgeuse paused for a moment to allow Gregory to give his first sobbing guess.

"I killed that guy over twenty bucks. He had a family, I didn't mean it-"

"Wrong."

Gregory's thumb was turning black under his ministrations. When he stopped this time, he blew on it and what used to be a fingernail fell away in a pile of ash.

"I had that girl killed for sampling too much product-"

"Wrong, again."

Gregory was missing three fingers by the time he even came close to a right answer.

"I got that girl hooked on heroin. She was a nice girl. Had a cute kid. She just wanted to be a Doctor."

Betelgeuse turned off the blowtorch and the insect slumped against the wall, thinking he was in the clear.

"What girl?"

"Russian girl. Natalya. I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry-"

The poltergeist clicked his tongue, interrupting. "You're gettin' close, Gregg, but no cigar."

The blowtorch turned back on and Gregory's eyes widened. "WAIT!" He screamed, the flame centimeters from his untouched ring finger. "I… I did bad things to that little girl…" Betelgeuse dropped the blowtorch to the ground and it fell with a clatter. While he had kept his emotions carefully schooled throughout this ordeal, his rage could no longer be contained.

" _WHAT LITTLE GIRL?"_ He shouted in the vermin's face. Flecks of spit flew from his mouth. His teeth were bared.

"I-I-I d-don't remember her n-name… N-Natalya's kid…"

" _WHAT DID YOU DO, GREGG? CONFESS YOUR SINS BEFORE GOD!"_

The insect couldn't bring himself to look his tormentor in the eyes. "I RAPED HER!" He sobbed out pathetically, hating himself. "She was so l-little… She cried f-for her mom, but… I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry-"

"ARGH!" A fist slammed into his jaw, knocking a couple teeth to the ground. Then again. And again and again and again. All rational thought had left Betelgeuse. It wasn't even about causing pain at this point. The room shook around them, the tray of torture devices and the chains that held up the maggot rattling as the poltergeist lost control of his great power. He stopped when his blows hit concrete instead of vermin. His fists were filthy with blood and brain matter and splintered with shards of skull. Where Gregory had once had a head there was now an explosion of organic matter against the dingy concrete wall. With trembling blood-slicked hands, Betelgeuse lit a cigarette and dropped to the ground. He allowed himself a rare moment of weakness while his victim was otherwise indisposed. His shoulders shook and for the first time in his long existence, tears wet his face. No sounds escaped him, these were silent tears. Betelgeuse stood, took a deep unnecessary breath, and stubbed out his cigarette butt on the limp chest of Gregory. With a wave of his hand, his face was dried and Gregory was completely intact once more, from his mangled cranium down to his stubbed fingers.

Without saying a word to the insignificant pleading mass of dead flesh, he went back to perusing through his tools. "Please no more…" It begged, shaking with closed eyes.

"There's always gonna be more for you, Gregg. I'm the devil, and you hurt my bride. Welcome to Hell."

* * *

Betelgeuse did not return to the world of the living until Gregory Green lost all of his fight. Until the light in his puke green eyes dimmed to nothing. Until he stopped flinching away from the pain and accepted his fate. He cleaned himself up, willed all of his tumultuous emotions away, and reappeared in the apartment in Autumn Woods he'd become so familiar with. It was dark out and no one was home. The witches' circle was still intact he noted, displeased. They weren't supposed to be doing magic without him. That was the deal. He couldn't bring himself to be upset with them, however. They were only human and humans loved to dabble in things they ought not be dabbling in. The kitten meowed loudly at him, walking in circles below where he was hovering. "Yeah, yeah, nice ta see you, too." Mandy was right like she always was. He did like the thing more now that he knew how much it respected him.

He waited. And waited and waited, becoming increasingly impatient. It displeased him to not know where Lydia was. It displeased him even more, however, when she and her friends finally came home. It was a good thing so much of his rage had been used up on the insect, or else he would have exploded at the sight of them. Lydia was wasted and bruised. He knew a choking victim when he saw one. Mandy was shaking and looked like she'd seen a ghost, so to speak, and Nona looked like she'd taken a heavy slap to the face. Possessive animosity furled in his chest. These were _his_ women, _his_ mortals, _his_ heretics. It may not have been voiced, but he'd laid claim to all three of them. The little goth girl passed out in his arms after muttering some nonsense about him "not coming back." Mandy stood trembling against the closed door, hugging herself, as Nona rampaged. "I want it slow. I want it bloody. I want him to suffer. I want-"

"Just slow the fuck down, Nona." That stopped her. He'd never called her by her name before. "Tell me what happened. From the beginning." Lydia was deposited on the couch gently. With a wave of his hand, she was removed from her soiled clothing and dressed in one of her too big T-shirts. Nona took a deep breath and sat next to Lydia, lifting the girl's head to rest in her lap. Mandy sat next to Nona, curling up to her side.

"That Nazi cocksucker lost his god damned mind, that's what happened. We went out to a party on the other side of town tonight. Lydia was upset because she didn't know why you hadn't come back yet. She was getting paranoid. We wanted to get her mind off of it." Nona dug around in her purse and pulled out an ivory cigarette case that was filled with pre-rolled joints. She lit one, puffed it twice, and passed it to the shell-shocked Mandy. "He came out screaming at Lydia like a madman. Apparently, she had said something that convinced Claire to leave him. If I hadn't used the magic we learned from that book to get him off of her he would have strangled her to death."

"They all just watched," Mandy spoke up, eyes wide with horror, lips trembling. "They were just gonna let him kill her." She must have been talking about the other party-goers. Her gaze was fuzzy, not focusing on anything.

"He has to die. Tonight. Now. If you're not gonna help me out, then-"

"Ah ah ah. I didn't say that. Just calm down, smoke your pot." His hand took hold of her chin softly to turn her head to the side so that he could get a better look at the bruise. For once she did not flinch away from his touch. "Fucker backhanded me like a little bitch." She bit out, arms crossed. "Cowardly little shit. I'd love to see him pick on somebody his own size."

"Where's his frat house?" There was a dangerous gleam in the jade eyes that flitted back and forth between the witches.

Mandy answered the question, joint quivering in her hands. "Further than ten miles."

" _Shit."_ He cursed, sneering. "Can't kill him tonight, then." He stood from where he'd been crouching before his shaken women. A dark smile curled his lips, however, when his eyes landed on the book. "Doesn't mean we can't make him suffer, though." Nona's own full lips curved into a wide cruel grin as her gaze followed his. Mandy started laughing, low and slow, until it evolved into mad cackles. Nona followed suit.

* * *

 

Lydia awoke in her bed with a splitting headache. Her head was resting on something cold. She groaned. It felt as though her brain had swelled to the point where her skull could no longer contain it and it was trying to beat its way out. "Oh, God."

"Not quite, but close."

Her eyes snapped open at the familiar voice. He was back! He hadn't left her! "Baby?" She was curled against his side atop her covers, head resting on his arm. Cold lips brushed her forehead and her hand clenched the material of his suit. "Where did you go? You were gone. I was thinking terrible things." Before he had a chance to answer, nausea swelled in her stomach and she darted up and to the bathroom to throw her guts up. Icy hands pulled back her hair and rubbed her back. "Get it all out." He muttered frowning, rubbing soothing circles. She stuck her head under the sink faucet to rinse out the foul taste from her mouth when she was done. "I'm sorry, honey. I got caught up running errands, lost track of time."

"It's okay." She moaned after spitting out her third mouthful of tap water. "I was just being crazy. It happens sometimes." He knew the feeling. Her husband tugged her back to her bedroom. With a wave of his hand, her heavy curtains fell from the hook that held them, drenching her room in soothing darkness. She curled back up in bed, eyes shut tight and breathing hard. He juiced up some chamomile tea for her. "What do you remember 'bout last night?"

"We went to a party. I think I got in a fight. I feel like I got in a fight."

"Ya got choked out." He squashed down residual rage as he took in the large handprints around her tiny neck.

"Fuck." Flashes of the previous night were coming back to her; Claire crying, an enraged Josh Peters, the claustrophobic feeling of suffocation. It was all jumbled, nothing quite fitting together. "I'm never drinking vodka again."

"While I'm flattered that you were driven to gettin' white-girl-wasted after three days of my absence, that's probably a good idea, babe."

"Did you kill him?" There was none of her previous trepidation in the question. She asked in the same manner that she might have asked him for a cigarette.

"Not yet. I did help your girlfriends make a voodoo doll last night, though. They're out in the livin' room playin' with it right now. Looks like everybody's playin' hooky today." Lydia laughed disbelievingly, before groaning in pain once more when the movement shook her head. "Here, drink up." She took a tentative sip from the offered honey-sweetened hot drink. She fell back onto the bed when she was done, exhausted by every minute movement.

"I don't care anymore if you kill him. I used to. I used to think it mattered. That it made me a bad person if I wished ill will on others." Her honey eyes were far away, staring up at the ceiling. "But then you took me to the afterlife, and I saw all those dead people. So many meaningless deaths. _So, so many_. And I thought something selfish. I thought about Mandy and picking her up from that God forsaken frat house, crying and bruised. I thought 'what's one more?'" She was whispering by the end of her admission, eyes closed. After a long moment, she turned her head to look at him. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her with a gaze so intense that it burned.

"So do it. I want you to."


	12. Chapter 12

"What did you do? When you were alive?"

They'd been lying in her bed in the dark for the past hour. Nona and Mandy could be heard giggling madly in the living room, but Lydia's massive hangover demanded she remain in the soothing darkness of her room.

"Be more specific, babe."

Her face was buried against his ribs. The coolness felt good against her sweating skin. "I mean, like, your job, or hobbies. I don't know."

His hand was on her back, beneath her shirt, rubbing small slow circles. "Worked for the courts. I was the guy who got confessions out o' people."

"You mean…" Lydia hesitated, stomach churning. "You don't mean like a… torturer?" She knew that Betelgeuse was a nasty customer. He had already told her that he was going to torture those boys to death. He'd made good on two-thirds of that promise. She just didn't think the origins of his sadism went back that far. She'd been assuming that they stemmed from centuries upon centuries of amassed power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, after all.

"I mean exactly that." She said nothing. "Does that _bother_ you?"

Lydia didn't have an opportunity to answer. Mandy burst in without knocking and the dark-haired girl groaned at the light that filtered in through the open door. "Lydia! You will never guess who just knocked on our front door." Said girl buried her face deeper into her husband's jacket. "I don't care. I know who _didn't_ knock on mine."

"You will care!" Mandy entered and shut the door behind her so that the occupants in the living room wouldn't hear her next words. "B, can you hide or disguise yourself or something? Fucking Claire is here." In an instant he was in his human skin, wearing nothing but a deep red bathrobe. An expanse of wiry dark blonde chest hair was exposed. Mandy blushed. She'd never seen him like _that_ before.

Lydia sat straight up, wincing. "Bullshit. She is not."

"She is! C'mon, Nona's rolling a blunt right now, that'll help with your hangover."

The goth raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're fucking kidding me. Nona- the same girl who regularly refers to this bitch as the antichrist- is about to share a blunt with _Claire_ fucking _Brewster_." It was madness. Out of everything that she'd seen, heard, and done in the past month, this one took the cake. Betelgeuse pinched her ass, earning a yelp and glare, smirking at her darkly. "Hey, your old man and I bonded over the Yankees. Stranger things have happened."

"That never happened and you're a filthy liar." His smirk deepened.

"C'mon!" Mandy grabbed her hand and tugged her up and off the bed. Reluctantly, Lydia allowed her to pull her into the living room. Without sparing Claire a glance, Lydia winced at the sunlight pouring through the French doors and pulled the curtains closed. Claire Brewster was sitting on the couch alone, eyes locked on the witches' circle. She seemed intensely awkward, uncomfortable and was uncharacteristically dressed down in sweatpants and a form fitting T-shirt that sported the school's mascot. Her crystalline eyes bugged first at the sight of Lydia, half-naked and covered in bruises, and then at the handsome older man who followed behind her. "Oh, my _Gawd_." She clapped tan hands over her mouth. "Did Josh do that to you? I-I heard that like… Uhm… some things happened after I left."

Lydia sneered and sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of the salt circle, opposite Claire. Nona was sitting at the bar, rolling a blunt. The spell book was notably absent. "If by 'things' you mean he tried to strangle me to death, then yeah. Some things happened. What the fuck are you doing here? You've tortured me since the day you met me." Betelgeuse was silent, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, demeanor menacing.

Mandy flounced past Lydia and sat next to Claire, placing a hand on the fellow blonde's knee. "Don't be so hostile, Lydia. Claire's here to _apologize_. She even brought cookies." Lydia turned her head to the bar where Nona was finishing up with the blunt. Sure enough, there was a plate of chocolate chip cookies wrapped in saran wrap sitting on the counter. The dark-haired girl scoffed and returned her gaze to her longtime bully. "So? How do I know you didn't fill them up with laxatives?"

"I already thought of that," Nona spoke after lighting up. "She ate one that I picked out randomly. They're safe."

"Congratulations." Lydia deadpanned. "You know how to work an oven. You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

Claire flinched and looked down, fiddling with her hands. Mandy pursed her lips. "Lighten up. I forgave her. Nona forgave her. Just hear her out."

"Fine." Lydia bit out, accepting the blunt that Nona passed her way. "But this had better be _really_ fucking good, Claire."

"I…" Claire began uncertainly, unable to meet any of their eyes. "After you told me that stuff about Josh, with like-", she cringed, "those uhm… pictures… I tried to talk to him about it and he got _so angry_. Told me that I was 'dumber than he already thought I was' if I listened to a-" Claire broke off, her eyes flicking up to meet Lydia's briefly before returning to her lap, "Well. It doesn't matter what he called you. Anyway, I just… I knew then that it was true. That it was all true. Everything." Her voice wavered. She was crying. Lydia's animosity diminished just the slightest bit. "And I went home and just, like, felt so horrible. Like I was the worst person in the world."

A stony-faced Lydia passed the crying Claire the blunt. She hit it. "You're not the worst person in the world. Don't get me wrong, you've been pretty shitty, but you're not nearly as shitty as your fiancé."

"Gawd." Claire bit out and hit the blunt once more. "Please don't call him that." She passed it to Mandy and finally worked up the courage to meet Lydia's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lydia. My Daddy would be so disappointed in me if he knew how I've treated you. You didn't deserve it. I just, like, wanted to fit in and be popular. And now none of my friends will talk to me, ever since that _traitorous bitch_ -", Lydia's eyes widened. She'd never heard Claire cuss before. "Jessica put up that video I've been a laughing stock."

"Is that why you're here?" Lydia spoke up, eyes narrowing once more in suspicion. "Because you don't have any friends left?"

"No! No, I just…" She wiped off some tears onto her pink school shirt, dampening the shoulder. "Now, I know what it's like."

"No, you don't Claire." Lydia was unmoved. "You don't have any fucking idea what it feels like. This is rock bottom for you? This is nothing. You'll bounce back. You're blonde and bubbly and pretty and rich. People will love you no matter where you go in life. You don't know what it's like for people to hate your guts for no reason, without even bothering to try and get to know you. You don't know what it's like to try and try and try and for it to never be enough. You don't-"

Claire cut her off, "You're right! I don't! I'm trying! I'm so, so sorry, Lydia." She buried her head in her hands, sobbing. Lydia sighed heavily and stood from her place on the ground. Betelgeuse was right. She wasn't one to hold grudges, especially when the person who wronged her was so willing to make amends. She moved to stand in front of Claire and opened her arms, beckoning. "Come here." The blonde stood and threw her arms tightly around Lydia, crying into her shoulder and blubbering apologies. _"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I was so stupid."_

"Shhh." Lydia patted her back, hardly believing that this was actually happening. "It's okay. I forgive you. We forgive you."

"Sheesh," Betelgeuse spoke up for the first time, scowling. "Why is there always a cryin' dame around here? Crampin' my style."

Lydia scowled back at him over Claire's shoulder, releasing the sniffling girl. "No one's forcing you to stick around, honey. Claire, this is my husband." The socialite's bloodshot eyes bugged. "W-what?"

"Yep!" Lydia began, interrupting Betelgeuse as he opened his mouth. No doubt to say something conspicuous. "We got married when I was sixteen. He had to go out of the country for five years on business, so we've been… uh, making up for lost time." There was a telling suggestive tone in the goth's voice as she gestured to the hickeys that bordered her strangulation marks. "That's why I've been missing so much class." Claire gaped. She really didn't know Lydia at all.

"But- but he's _so old_! And sixteen is, like, _so young_! What? Why?"

Betelgeuse's scowl deepened and he regretted not ending the platinum blonde behind Lydia's back the way he'd wanted to.

"Hey, we're her best friends and she didn't even tell us about him until just recently," Nona spoke, relaxing into the recliner.

Claire's crystalline eyes flitted back and forth between all four of them before landing on the ornate circle of salt and candles. "So… uhm, do you guys like, uh… I mean, are you Wiccans or something?" That was the least offensive way she could think of voicing that question.

"Or something," Mandy answered, an evil glint in her eyes as she bit her lip and leaned in toward Claire. "Wanna join our coven? All we'll need from you is a blood sacrifice." Claire stiffened, eyes wider than ever now. Lydia chuckled and made her way to her husband, relaxing back against his chest. Her head still pounded from her hangover. His hands came to rest on her hips and he kissed her temple, jade eyes on Claire the whole time. "Don't tease her, Mandy. No, we're not Wiccans. We're witches. That's one of the few rumors about me that actually is true."

"Hey!" Nona spoke up, countenance just as evil as Mandy's. "We made a voodoo doll of Josh last night. Want to exact some revenge?"

Claire Brewster was in shock and felt immensely put on the spot. She had been raised Catholic like she assumed Lydia was. They went to the same Catholic school. It only made sense. Before, it had been fun to joke around with her friends and imply that Lydia and her friends were witches, but she'd never imagined it was actually _true_. Mandy skipped to the kitchen and pulled out a Ken doll from the cupboard beneath the sink. It was naked and had a savage looking rune painted on it with black nail polish. "We've been playing with it for a while. Not sure if it's working or not. Josh hasn't made any posts since last night, though, so we can assume it is. You, of all people, know what a social media whore he is." There were pin needles sticking through the doll's hands and feet. Its hair was singed in places, and its eyes had been painted black.

"I…" The doll was shoved into Claire's hands. They were all staring at her. She realized with a jolt that she was standing in the center of the circle while they all observed her from the outskirts. "This is crazy! You can't do magic! Nobody can! Magic doesn't exist!"

Lydia muttered something low, inaudible, and beckoned the doll to her with her finger. It flew from Claire's hands to the goth's and she screamed in surprise. "Can so." She answered, calmly, rebelliously. "Come on, Claire." The tattooed, bruised girl was examining the doll and its various injuries with avid interest. "I know it pisses you off that he cheated on you so many times. I mean, you're Claire fucking Brewster. You could've had anybody and you gave yourself to him." Lydia's tone was dark, seducing.

"And how does he thank you?" Nona began, draped across the couch. She blew out a stream of marijuana smoke in Claire's direction. "Fucking your best friend. Sticking his dick in anything that walks. He never gave a damn about you." Tears were filling Claire's eyes once more.

Mandy summoned the doll to her and it flew from Lydia's hands. She joined Claire in the center of the circle and placed the doll back into the shaking girl's tan hands. "He humiliated you. And me. And Lydia. He made you look like a fool. That's gotta sting. He doesn't get to get away with it. Don't let him get away with it, Claire." The platinum blonde found herself growing angrier and angrier as the heretics continued to seduce her. Her tears of humility turned into tears of rage. "Do it. You know you want to."

With a primal scream of frustration, Claire violently twisted Ken's arm backward into an awkward angle.

* * *

Across town, in a frat house that none of the witches ever wished to visit again, Josh Peters lay in bed in horrible agony. His brothers did not know what to do with the hallucinating swim captain. He'd woken complaining of affliction after affliction. He claimed that his hands and feet hurt, that he couldn't grab hold of anything or walk- as though he'd contracted a serious case of arthritis. Then he lost his vision and was overcome with fever. He convulsed now and screamed, clutching at his shoulder. The doctor his brothers had called to examine him was dumbfounded. He could find no explanation for Josh Peters' sudden agony.

It was like magic.


	13. Chapter 13

"So, tell me, Claire; I've been dying to know." Nona was holding a pin needle above her lighter, waiting for the thin steel to become hot enough to penetrate the hard, tan plastic of the Ken doll. "Is that her real nose?" They were discussing Jessica Sherman. Ken sizzled when she pressed it into his groin.

Claire scoffed. "Of course not. Her tits are fake, too. She doesn't have, like, an inch of skin left that hasn't been touched up by a surgeon. She's had lipo _three times_." All four girls dissolved into mad giggles. The sun was beginning to set. They'd ordered several pizzas, despite Claire's "like totally gluten free" diet, and had spent their time making amends, gossiping, and playing with the doll. "She's not a natural red-head, either. Not that I can judge. I bleach my hair."

Mandy's shoulder nudged hers. "Hey, no shame in that. Not everyone can have natural golden waves like moi." Her tone was full of teasing cockiness.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and departed to the patio for a cigarette. As much as he enjoyed watching his little heathens take sadistic joy in torturing Josh Peters, this really wasn't his scene. He liked being surrounded by hot babes as much as the next guy, but they were annoyingly clothed- with the exception of his delectable wife- and practically ignoring him in favor of "girl talk." Claire's eyes followed him until the doors shut. She then turned her gaze to Lydia, eyes narrowed and lips curled scandalously. "Lydia Deetz. I knew you were a freak, but I didn't know you were a _freak_."

Lydia took a vicious bite out of a slice of bacon and banana pepper pizza with light sauce and extra cheese. "Don't call me a freak. That's our word, Barbie." She deadpanned. Five years of merciless teasing would not be so easily forgotten with pizza and voodoo alone.

"Oh, shut up," It wasn't the shut-your-mouth kind of "shut up." It was the we're-best-friends-forever-now-let's-go-get-our-nails-painted-matching-colors kind of "shut up." "You know what I mean. Who would have thought that shy little Lydia likes to get down and dirty with men old enough to be her father?" _'More like old enough to be my great-great-great-great-great et cetera Grandfather'_ Lydia thought, lips curling with amusement.

Claire bit her pink lips and leaned toward Lydia, curious. "How big is his dick?" She'd give Claire one thing, the girl was blunt.

Lydia set down her slice of pizza and leaned in toward Claire as well. _"Huge."_ She whispered, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes suggestively. The other three girls screamed in response, clapping and stomping their feet. Lydia smirked, pleased with herself, and stood. "I'm going to go smoke a cigarette with my husband and his huge dick. Don't have too much fun." A chorus of laughter followed her onto the balcony.

"What's so fuckin' funny?" He asked as she took her place at his side. A pre-lit cigarette was offered to her before she had a chance to dig one out of her pack.

"Oh, nothing." The tiny smile on her lips gave away the lie, but he didn't press her.

"You wanna get outta here, babe? Go to my place or somethin'?" The arm that wasn't holding up his smoke wrapped around her waist and drew her in close. "I think your little friends got everythin' covered here."

"I'd love to." She nuzzled her cheek against his cold shoulder. "But we have to wait for Claire to leave. I really don't feel like explaining to her that you're an ultra-powerful dead guy who can travel between dimensions at the drop of a hat. I think 'magic is real' is enough big news for one day."

"Bullshit we do." He scoffed. "Say we're goin' on a date or some shit. Then we just take off in your car and don't come back."

"You," Lydia began, pausing to puff on her cigarette, "are a genius."

He grinned evilly and pulled her around to face him, hands on her hips. "I got one condition."

"Anything." Lydia acquiesced obediently, resting her arms loosely on his shoulders. She was careful to keep her cigarette out of his human hair.

"I get ta drive."

His wife laughed disbelievingly at the mundane request and kissed his neck. The fingers on her hips flexed. "What? You don't like my driving?"

"You drive just fine, baby. But we're takin' the highway to hell."

* * *

The other girls all had mixed reactions to the news that Lydia and her husband were going on an impromptu date. Nona scowled and said nothing. Mandy begged her to stay, spouting off something about the "unbreakable bonds of sisterhood." Claire catcalled and told Betelgeuse "to, like, wear a condom." They were on the road now, on their way to a deserted country path that her car could inconspicuously disappear on. She'd dressed the part- a tight black lace dress with hip-high slits and three-inch thick sleeves that hung off of her shoulders, knee-high boots, and long hair in pigtails- even though she knew they were just going back to his house. Excitement bubbled within her, even so. She'd only seen his living room and was dying to explore the rest of the strange place.

As soon as they pulled onto an adequately lonesome road, his human skin was shed. "Is that what you looked like when you were alive or did you just pull that disguise out of your ass?"

"Nope, that's all me, sugar. Ya like?" The scenery was beginning to melt around them, the night sky fading into neon orange.

"I'm not really into the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing. I like my men pale, filthy, and dead." The car drove itself briefly as he took a moment to thoroughly explore her mouth with his tongue and squeeze her ass. When he pulled away, Lydia sucked in a breath. They were on the twisting highway that led to his house. The breath in her lungs was expelled in the form of a surprised scream as her modest Sedan sped up so quickly that her speedometer couldn't keep up. Her arms wrapped around him in anticipation as the car approached a triple loop-de-loop. Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, a crazed grin curling, revealing his teeth, as Lydia's arms wrapped tighter around his mid-section. She was regretting not wearing her seatbelt. Her stomach dropped as they bolted through the first loop, her hair dropping to the roof of the car. She felt herself lift off of her seat just the tiniest bit before they were right side up again. The next two loops were traversed in much the same manner. On the third loop, she allowed her eyes to open and witnessed a sandworm emerge from the abyss below to fly through the concrete hoop as though it were doing tricks for a circus master. Before too long, her tires skidded to a stop in front of his house, the tail end of the vehicle just barely missing hitting the structure. Betelgeuse transported her inside using magic, rather than risking her toppling over the edge of the highway with the raging sandstorm.

She broke away from him once she felt steady on her feet, squealing. "That was better than any rollercoaster in any amusement park I've ever been to!" She darted to the window she knew of, pulling back the curtain to see if she could spot the sandworm. It was already gone. A sand-laden twister tore off a chunk of the road near his home. "Will my car be okay out there?"

"Probably." She shot him an incredulous look at the vague answer and he tugged her away from the window. "If it's not, I'll get you a Ferrari."

Well. How could she argue with that? She broke away from his hold to walk down a nearby hall. "Can you turn on the lights or something? It's so dark." In an instant, every room was illuminated for her. Night crawlers scattered. She lifted her boot to avoid crushing one. "Candelabras?" She asked, tracing one of the many that lined his hallway. They were dusty, but she could tell they were made of real gold, and were out of place on the tacky lime green and yellow striped wallpaper. "How very _Phantom of the Opera_. I love it." She darted through an archway before he had a chance to reply. It was a kitchen. The double-sink was overflowing with dishes. Maggots ate up whatever rotting leftover food was left on the plates and flies flew through the air, buzzing. The fridge door was hanging open a crack. A small round wooden table with just one matching chair was pushed up against the corner. Lydia pulled the fridge open to examine his groceries, only to find that every shelf, down to the doors, was filled with beer. She shut it and started laughing. He was leaning in the doorway, an annoyed eyebrow raised in her direction.

"Somethin' funny?"

"How…" She started, gasping and clutching her stomach, "… can you have SO MANY dirty dishes and _NO FOOD_? It doesn't make any sense! Nothing here makes any sense! Your house floats! At the end of a rollercoaster made of highway! We should be hurtling to our deaths- well, my death- right now!" She was crying and red-faced, pointing at him. He pursed his lips and said nothing. Once her laughing calmed down to giggles she rushed past him to find another room to explore. Mad laughter exploded from her throat again. She'd discovered the bathroom.

"What is it this time?" He deadpanned, following after her.

"IT'S CLEAN!" Not really, though. There was a thick layer of dust on everything, but other than that the room looked completely untouched. She came to stand in front of the mirror above his sink and wiped away the dust, only for her laughter to die. She had no reflection. "…?" Her hand touched her cheek, making sure she was still real and solid, before touching the mirror again. Betelgeuse came to stand behind her, hands on her hips. "Don't worry, you're still breathin'. Mirrors don't work too well down here. They still build them into houses, though. Probably to make new arrivals feel more 'normal.'"

"That's insane. Show me your bedroom."

One of the hands on her hip slid around her front to grasp her breast. The other pulled her groin flush with his. Had the mirror worked, she would have seen his dark leer. "You get right to the point, don't cha?" She shook his hand off and turned around to face him, leaning against the dusty sink. "It's only fair. You've seen my bedroom. Besides, I wanna see if you have centerfolds stapled to your wall like a teenage boy." With a subtle wave of his hand that she took no notice of, his centerfolds disappeared.

As he guided her toward a door at the end of the hall, her hand reached out to the brass handle of a black-painted door. It was the only door like that in his entire home. He stopped her. "Ah ah ah. That's the basement. That room's off limits to you, cupcake." A blood-curdling male scream erupted from behind it and his wife shrunk to his side. "Okay…" She agreed, eyes wide. With an arm around her waist, he dragged her to his bedroom, opening the door with a flourish.

"A coffin?" Every other detail of his room- including the massive fireplace that roared to life at their entrance, illuminating his casket- was ignored in favor of crossing to the tomb that encompassed the center of the floor. "That's really _Phantom of the Opera_." It was made of cherry wood and quite large, as though it had been built to house three to four corpses. The lid took a bit of effort to lift, rusted hinges creaking, and it hit the floor with a heavy clunk. Politely, she removed her boots before crawling inside. The blood-red velvet felt luxurious against her pale skin. "When I go, I hope they bury me in something like this. I could sleep here forever."

He was bent over her, hands grasping the edge of his coffin. "You _can_ sleep here forever. If you want."

Lidded honey-colored eyes gazed up at him, pale pink lips curved suggestively. "Something tells me I wouldn't be doing a lot of sleeping."


	14. Chapter 14

"Why don't you like B?" Claire inquired toward Nona once Lydia and her husband were out the door. The goth hadn't seemed to notice Nona's displeasure at them taking off, but Claire had.

"She's just jealous," Mandy spoke up from behind the bar where she was boiling a pot of water for Ken. "We've had Lydia all to ourselves for a long time. That, and Nona really, really dislikes men."

"Shut up, slut." Nona growled darkly from the couch, earning a "nyah" from Mandy, her tongue poking out childishly. "I am _not_ jealous of that foul git. I just think she deserves better." Nona had harbored a secret crush on Lydia for a long time. She squashed it down every time those feelings would start to blossom. Lydia was her friend. Lydia was married. Lydia was straight- though if that drunken kiss they'd shared was anything to go off of, her arrow might occasionally veer the other way.

"What? Does he not, like, treat her right or something? She's wearing a pretty big rock for someone who's being mistreated. But then again, mine was pretty big, too." Claire examined her bare hand, content to be free of her shackles.

"He treats her like a fucking queen." Mandy was dipping Ken into the boiling pot. In a hospital across town, Josh Peters' doctor was perplexed even further as mysterious boils started forming all over his screaming patient. "He gave her that kitten. They just came back from a honeymoon in India a few days ago. I mean, shit, he wasn't doing it for me when he killed Todd and Noah." Mandy stopped abruptly, dropping the doll fully into the pot by accident. "Oops." She hadn't meant to blurt that out like that.

The baby hairs on the back of Claire's neck stood straight. "But..." The night Todd had disappeared Josh had come to her telling crazy stories about a skeleton reaching through the ground and dragging Todd to Hell. She had talked him down, convinced him that he must have been imagining things, that they were all tired and drunk and that it must have been a tree root. But then the cops found those fingernails. She didn't know what to think about that. Josh became unhinged. He stopped spending as much time with her as he used to, stopped going out with his friends, started drinking more and spending a lot more time with Jessica- _'Idiot.'_ Claire berated herself. He was even worse after Noah disappeared. Almost as if he was paranoid, waiting for his turn. Now, she realized, that's exactly what he was doing. "How? All they found of Todd was his fingernails? _Oh, my Gawd_." Her mind was reeling, trying desperately to form a picture of what was happening. If Lydia's husband had truly killed those boys, she was dabbling with people and things much darker than what she'd thought. Torturing a Ken doll, imagining that she was hurting the man who had hurt her so much and so often, was not the same as killing a person.

"Way to go, motormouth." Nona drawled, sitting up to face Claire. "Don't bother trying to tell on him." She warned, her dark eyes darkening further. "He won't get caught, and you'll end up looking crazy."

Claire stood, her heart racing. "But-but we have to go to the police!"

Mandy laughed, pouring the boiling pot of water- and Ken- into the sink. "No, we don't. You can if you want. Seriously, knock yourself out."

"I don't know what happened to Todd, but it's sick! If-if _he_ did that, then he's sick! He's a murderer!" Claire was pacing, wringing her hands through her hair. She almost tripped, skidding the salt circle.

"And if- sorry- when Josh dies? What then? What will that make you?" Nona's question stopped Claire cold. "You've been sitting here for hours, doing all matter of nasty things to that plastic little doll. You're every bit as guilty as us, as him. Life isn't all black and white, princess. The only difference between us and B is that he has the balls to stick the needles into his victims in person." Tears balanced precariously on Claire's bottom lids and Nona sighed deeply, pulling the girl to sit next to her and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Don't feel bad, sweetie. You haven't done anything wrong. What they did was wrong. We're just dealing out a little justice on the behalf of Lady Karma."

Mandy came around the bar from the kitchen and knelt before the blonde and brunette. "Claire, you don't know what they did to me. You've only heard rumors." She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to the other blonde's knees. "Todd and I had been dating for awhile. I liked him. I thought he liked me. Then, one night..." She raised her blue eyes up to mirror Claire's. "He invited me out to their frat house for a party. Tried to get me to invite Nona and Lydia, too. Thank fucking God they were busy; working and doing homework. I had one beer. Just one. The next thing I knew I was waking up on the front lawn with no underwear and no memory of how I got there. They'd ripped my favorite dress, too." She broke off, laughing bitterly. "As if raping me wasn't enough." The tears in Claire's pretty eyes had broken free. She parted her lips, but Mandy cut her off. "Just stop. Wait. They..." Mandy couldn't meet her eyes. "After they were done with me, after they dropped me on the lawn, they... They urinated on my passed out body. I'm never going to forget the smell." Her expression was cold, detached. She lacked her usual sunny aura.

"I..." Claire's hands were covering her mouth in revulsion. "I'm so sorry." The arm around her shoulders tightened. Nona's eyes were practically black.

"I don't want your pity. Don't pity me." She handed Claire the doll and the girl took it with no hesitation this time. "Just don't ever feel bad for doing what needs to be done."

* * *

"I want to try something."

They were in his coffin. She'd pulled him inside, and once his hands had started wandering beneath her clothes, she'd flipped him onto his back. He let her.

"Oh, yeah?" Betelgeuse bent his arms, resting his head in his hands. "Feelin' adventurous, cream puff? You been watchin' porn behind my back?"

Lydia screwed up her face and swatted him before she began slowly unbuttoning his white top. "No. I just want to do a thing. I've never done it before- I mean..." She bit her lip. "I _have_ , but..."

Rage blossomed in his chest as he realized what she was saying, what it was she wanted to do. He made a mental note to take a trip to the basement once she was nice n' fucked n' passed out in his coffin- where she belonged. His hands stopped hers, jade eyes piercing her to the core. "No, you haven't. That doesn't count. Nothing he made you do counts. You don't have to do that."

Lydia broke her eyes away from his and shook his hands away, continuing to unbutton him. "I know I don't have to. I want to." Reluctantly, he rested his hands on her thighs that the slits in her gown exposed. He wasn't about to turn her down twice. Especially when she was wearing pigtails- his cock twitched as he realized that _she'd planned this_ \- and looking at him like that. Soon, his top was completely unbuttoned and she began work unfastening his belt. He helped her, lifting his hips, as she tugged it out of his pant loops. The metal bit clattered on the hardwood outside of his coffin.

Lydia lifted up onto her knees and bent over him, kissing his neck. He knew that she was doing this to warm him up, but it was unnecessary. He'd been ready to go as soon as she'd crawled into his coffin and made herself at home. Her lips burned a trail down his chest, kissing and licking and nipping. He leaned up on his elbows to watch as she unzipped his pants, releasing him from their uncomfortable confinements. He fell back flat again, however, when she boldly grabbed hold of him at the base and shyly licked the thick vein beneath the underside of the head. She drew a groan out of him when she did it again, more firmly this time, her tongue flattened instead of pointed. It was torturous. She licked him over and over again, not drawing him fully into her mouth until his member was slick all over.

He actually gasped when she finally did, his dead lungs filling up with air. She was so hot, so soft, so wet. She held just the head at first, swirling her soft tongue in circles around it for an agonizing moment, before daring to take him in deeper. "Oh- FUCK- God, don't stop. Please, don't stop." He found himself mimicking words she'd said to him before. It made her feel powerful to have him begging to her for once. She sucked and he bucked his hips, inadvertently making her gag. She withdrew. "Shit! Sorry, uh-"

"It's okay." She smiled a tiny little smile up at him before continuing her work. God, she was a fucking angel. He'd thought she was a sight in India, laying nude in a bed of satin and diamonds. That was nothing compared to her now; pretty pink lips wrapped tight around his cock, honey colored eyes looking up at him watching for every little reaction. She quickly became more confident with her administrations and fell into a rhythm. His hands grabbed hold of the spools of hair on either side of her head and helped her along encouragingly, careful not to make her gag again.

She couldn't deep throat and he didn't expect her to. In fact, she couldn't even fit half of him into her beautiful little mouth. That didn't matter. She was doing wonderful things with what she had to work with. Her tiny warm little hands worked what she couldn't fit into her mouth, stroking and gripping the way he'd taught her to. While she sucked, her tongue incessantly pulsed against the thick purple vein she'd teased before. "Mmm, yeah baby, just like that. You're doin' _just fine_..."

Big innocent eyes looked up at him and he groaned as she tried to say something around his cock, the vibrations humming through him in the best way. "Shouldn't try n' talk with your mouth full. S' bad manners." Her eyes narrowed and he felt her teeth scrape against him lightly, threateningly. In response, his hands tightened around her pigtails and pulled her down a centimeter or so. Her narrowed eyes drifted down and she sucked hard, punishingly, and drew as much of him as she possibly could into her mouth. His grip faltered as his head pressed against the back of her throat. Then, she released him completely, gasping for breath. She'd almost made herself gag on that one.

"C'mere."

He pulled her back up into his lap by her underarms and flipped the front of her dress out of the way. No underwear. He sat up and planted his mouth on hers, biting her slick bottom lip gently. Impatiently, he tugged the top of her dress down until her chest was exposed and the lacy material lay slack around her waist. Then, he lifted her by the ass and dropped her onto him. "Ungh!" Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hands gripped the plush velvet of his coffin for purchase as he thrust up, making her perfect breasts bounce and hit him in the face. She may have been on top, but he was in control. He leaned back onto his elbows and watched her as he pistoned upwards, hitting something inside of her that made her scream every time.

With a flick of his wrist, her gown disappeared and she was bare, bouncing on top of him at his will. Lydia threw her head back and cried out sweetly when he started stroking her clit with his thumb, the rest of his fingers splayed against her hipbone. He lost himself when both of her hands came up to play with her nipples and she lost herself in her orgasm, riding him down to the last inch. He grabbed her hips bruisingly and ground her down as he thrust up, once, twice, three times; emptying into her. With a whimper, she fell against him, head resting on his shoulder, hot gasping breaths burning into his neck. He sat up, still inside of her and supporting her with arms around her back. Cold lips brushed her sweaty forehead.

"That was good, baby. Real good."

* * *

Lydia was asleep. After their rut he'd conjured a heavy black comforter for her. The fireplace only kept the room so warm. He never slept with blankets. Really, he never slept. The coffin was just for show, not that he ever had any visitors. Carefully, he untangled her pale limbs from his own, crept from the tomb, and donned his bathrobe.

Gregory was screaming in the basement, burning. That was his fate whenever his tormentor wasn't there. He'd burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left of him but ash. Then, like the phoenix, he'd rise again only to burn down to embers and brittle blackened bones once more. Betelgeuse lit a cigarette and waved his hand, freeing Gregory from the pain momentarily.

"I'm a sick guy, Gregg, but I'm nothin' compared to you."

_"I'm sorry, God! I repent! I'm a worm! I'm filth!"_

"Shut the fuck up." Gregg obeyed, whimpering. "I bet you thought you got your due when those _**real**_ _bad motherfuckers_ made you their bitch. My wife's sleepin' like an angel upstairs. She couldn't be broken, not the way that _you can_."

_"The Goddess could never! She's too strong! Not like Gregory... Gregory is trash... Gregory is evil..."_

A fist slammed into his jaw, cutting off the insane ramblings, splitting his lip, and making his mouth swell up with blood. "Don't fucking talk about her. Ever."

A soft female gasp from the darkness behind him made him spin around. "B-Betelgeuse...?"

 _"Shit."_ He'd forgotten to lock the door. He meant to, with her here, but it had slipped his mind. She must've woken and gone looking for him in his absence. With a wave of his hand the only light in the room, a dingy low-watt bulb that hung over Gregory's head, was put out. But it was too late. She saw. The damage was done.

Lydia ran.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreign dialogue in this chapter. Scroll to the bottom for a translation. Enjoy!

Lydia's knee hit a concrete step hard as she scrambled back up the stairs, cutting the skin there open. The skin of her palm was scraped as well. She grunted, ignoring the stinging pain in favor of wrapping the overly large comforter tighter around her naked body. She was breathing. She must have been breathing. She could feel the rush of air flowing over her dry mouth, could feel her abdomen expanding as her lungs greedily drew in oxygen. Still, her chest felt as tight as it had the previous night when Josh Peters had attempted to strangle the life out of her. It was so dark. She stumbled towards the living room blindly and attempted to yank the front door open only for it to hold fast. She went to the window instead, not bothering to try and fumble with the multiple locks. The curtains were unintentionally ripped from the rod in her haste. She couldn't bring herself to care. Why should she? He wouldn't.

"Lydia!"

The window did open for her. She stuck her entire torso out and sucked in the glacial Neitherworldian air, trying desperately to breathe again, to get oxygen to her brain. _"Eto ne real'no. Eto ne real'no."_ The sandstorms that usually raged around his unorthodox home were abnormally quiet. For a split second, she considered jumping, if only to experience flight.

Images were flashing through her mind. Some she'd banished a long time ago, and a few she'd suppressed; the deep crack that fractured the ceiling in her childhood bedroom, the sound of a cockroach crunching beneath Gregg's sneakers, a bloodstain on her dingy yellow sheets, uncomfortable wetness and sharp pains between her thighs. It was cold. She knew it was cold. There were goosebumps on her arms and chills down her spine like it was cold. It was always cold here. She still sweated and burned as though the living world's sun was beating down on her. The comforter, which had felt so soft and cozy before, scratched at her skin intolerably. _"Menya zdes' net. Ya ne mogu byt' zdes'."_

A hesitant hand caressed her back _. "NE TROGAYTE MENYA!"_ A hard thud forced her to turn around and investigate. Betelgeuse had been thrown backward, right into the painting she loved so much. He hit the wall hard before slumping to the ground. The painting fell onto his head. The aged hand-carved wooden frame cracked and the ancient delicate canvas was split right in two, separating the decrepit man from his plump lover. She gasped in horror at the loss. "I... I..." He didn't seem to be in pain, though he did scowl and rub his head at the spot where the frame had cracked. "I didn't mean to do that..." He stood, a cold calculating expression on his face that she'd never seen on him before. Lydia would not be intimidated if that was his intention. "Take me to the potter's field. I want to kill zombies." He stepped forward. "And don't touch me. I know you can do it without touching me, so just do it."

His lips parted, as though to debate that suggestion, and Lydia found herself losing her temper once more. "If you love me you will get me out of this place now and I mean _right fucking now_." She had no desire to hold his feelings for her over his head, but he was forcing her hand. Betelgeuse's eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened, but nevertheless her order was obeyed. She stumbled and fell backward on the landing without him there to steady her. Intent on keeping hold of her disintegrating integrity, she stood and brushed herself off. She wore the same outfit as before; leather pants, jacket, and boots with a black cotton tank and a long tight braid. The jacket was torn off and thrown carelessly to the wet grass. It was night time in Eastern Europe, and the full moon shone down on them brightly. "My sword?" He tossed the conjured weapon to her and she caught it clumsily in her scraped palm, wincing.

"Lydia, c'mon-"

"Shut up."

The ground shook more than it did the last time he raised the dead for her. He started her off with six instead of one, eager to exhaust her _. "Ublyudok."_ The first one was taken down cleanly with a stab through the brain. The second one lost its arms, then its legs and its torso laid on the grass, rotten teeth snapping helplessly. Lydia stepped back slowly, sword drawn horizontally beneath her eyes, and waited. The last four eventually lined up in front of her, three feet away. With one smooth slice, they were all simultaneously decapitated. She returned to the second one, who still lay biting at the air, milky eyes wide open and staring at nothing _. "Po'shyol 'na hui."_ Its brains splattered on the heel of her boot.

"More."

"Baby, talk to me."

"I said more."

"Lydia, you can't just-"

With a primal scream of frustration, her sword was thrown to the ground. It splashed in a pool of blood. She stomped over to where he stood roughly twenty feet away, fire in her eyes. Her unimpressive weight and strength still managed to budge him about an inch when she pushed him with both hands. " _HOW DARE YOU?_ How _dare_ you put me under the same roof as him?" Her entire body trembled with rage and a plethora of other emotions. "I'm not fucking stupid, you know! I know you stole those pictures! I know what you were talking to my Dad about! _Fucking Yankees_. You're both liars. At least I expect it from you." She spit on the ground in between them, fury and nausea from the smell of rotting corpses making her mouth water. "I know what you do, how you operate! I knew you'd go seeking him out! How fucking hard would it have been to just wait? To just wait for me to leave before you did whatever sick shit it is that you do to the poor souls that end up in that godforsaken basement?" He opened his mouth, only to be cut off again. "NO! Just shut up! You're always _talking talking talking_ and half the time you're lying to me anyway! So just shut the fuck up and let me say what I want to say!"

He was effectively silenced. There was a long tense moment where Lydia placed her hands over her ears, knit her brows, bit her lip, and tried to gather her thoughts. So many thoughts and unspoken words roared through her mind, drowning out rational thought. The only sound in the valley were the four decapitated heads choking on their own blood. "I think..." She began after taking a deep breath, eyes still closed. "I think that I love you." His heart lurched. "And I know that you think that you love me, too. But that..." She opened her eyes and he saw that tears swam in them, gleaming brightly in the moonlight. "What you do in that basement... That is not love. I don't know what the fuck love is supposed to be or what it's supposed to feel like, but I know enough to know that _that_ is not it." She wiped her wet cheeks with her hands and stepped closer, quaking in her blood-slicked boots. "Love is me making you coffee even though you never ask for it." Her voice was simultaneously sure and unsure, quivering yet steady. "Love is you giving me a kitten just because you didn't want to see me cry."

Tentatively, he reached out and drew her hands away from her face. He was not thrown back this time. His lips brushed her injured palm, which had been irritated further by her handling of the sword. "I want you to listen to what I'm about to say very carefully." She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "I was raped and drugged when I was a little girl. Repeatedly. For years." The hands that held hers trembled with rage. "And I let it go a long, long time ago. It's never going to fully leave me, not really, but I _had to let it go_. I had to. You have to let it go, too. If you don't, then this isn't going to work. We're not going to work. You _can't_ look at me and see a damaged little girl. You just can't. 'Cause if you do, then that's all I'm going to see and it will rip me apart inside."

"That's not what I see when I look at you." The words were muttered out against her damp palms.

Their eyes met at the same time. She saw so much regret in the sharp jade orbs, so much buried pain. "What do you see?"

So fucking much he couldn't possibly put it into adequate, eloquent words for her, words that were good enough, words that she deserved; strength and bravery that rivaled the ancient gladiators, incomparable beauty and dignified grace, incessant unending kindness- even for those who didn't deserve it, _even for him_ \- and fierce loyalty for those who did. "Everything." He answered simply, whispering.

"You promise-" Her breath caught in her throat as she exposed her weaknesses, "Promise that's not what you see. Promise you're not lying."

He pulled her in close and tight, tucking her head under his chin and burying his nose in her sweet-smelling hair. " I promise. You're so much more than that. _You're everything, Lydia_. I'm so sorry. I didn't- I wasn't thinking. I just- I just had to- He-"

"I know." She mumbled against his jacket. Of course, he hadn't meant for her to see that, to see _him_. "Everybody makes mistakes. Even you. Just get rid of him. I don't care what you do and I don't want to know. I just don't ever want to see him again." His arms tightened around her further and she felt his head nod in agreement. "I'm sorry. About, ya know..." He knew what she was talking about, apologizing for. It had been a visceral reaction. He should've known better than to try and touch her when she was in such a fragile state, muttering to herself in her native tongue.

"Nah, 's okay. I deserved it."

"No, you didn't." Her arms tightened around him as well and she breathed in deeply, nose buried in his jacket. He smelled like cigarettes and ether. "Take me away from here."

"Where?"

"Not my apartment, or your place. I don't know. Just take me away."

The desecrated, decapitated heads left over from Lydia's emotional massacre de-animated with their disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L: "This isn't real. This isn't real."
> 
> L: "I'm not here. I can't be here."
> 
> L: "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
> 
> L: "Bastard."
> 
> L: "Fuck you."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy with Russian text. As per usual, there is an English translation at the bottom. I highly recommend opening this page in another tab, scrolling to the bottom, and using that for reference as you read on. Enjoy!

They appeared on an ice-laden sidewalk in the middle of who-knows-where. It was snowing thickly in the nameless city and the day was just beginning. The orange rays of the rising sun made the ice and snow shine like ground glass. The occasional car rolled down the salted streets carefully. Betelgeuse appreciated the way the snowflakes got caught up in her midnight hair. It was as though the milky way was flowing down her shoulders.

"Where are we?"

He'd dressed her in another extravagant pea-coat complete with a hood. This one was deep red and lined with black fur. She knew better now than to ask if it was real. Lydia didn't want to know. He was wearing his human outfit; black slacks, trench-coat, and gloves. A young poorly dressed boy at a newspaper stand across the street answered her question.

"Ser! Skuchat'! Vy khotite bumagu? Luchshaya tsena v Moskve!"

Lydia gasped. Pure joy spread through her, starting in her heart. "Da! Da, pozhaluysta!" She called back to the boy, grabbing her husband's hand and dragging him across the street to the stand. "Moscow!" She squealed, practically skipping. "You brought me to Moscow!"

"What?" He was grinning crookedly, pleased by her reaction. "Ain't ya been here before?"

"No! Never!" They halted before the shivering, skinny boy. "Skol'ko?"

The boy flushed as he gazed up at Lydia and Betelgeuse scowled, suspecting that the color in the boy's cheeks had little to do with the cold. "Vosem'desyat sem' rubl'."

"Do you have ruble?" He returned her question with a puzzled look. She rolled her eyes. "Russian money."

"Uhhh… I got a card?"

Lydia scoffed disbelievingly. "You don't make any sense at all. You can pull dollars and euros out of thin air, but you can't produce ruble?"

His eyes narrowed. "What do you want from me, babe? I ain't been here before, either. I tend to avoid fascist countries. Never thought I'd come, never bothered to learn where they kept their dough."

"Why does that matter?"

"Where do ya think all my cash comes from, sweet cheeks? I sure as Hell didn't earn it."

"Hold on." Lydia giggled, shaking her head at the absurdity of his implication. "Are you telling me that your bottomless bank account is courtesy of the U.S. Department of Treasury?"

"And the European commission. And Her Majesty's Treasury. Don't always take from the government, though. When I'm in Mexico, it's way more fun to steal from the cartel. _Really pisses em' off_."

"You're a thief! And here I thought you were just a walking talking counterfeit machine." She seemed more amused by the revelation than morally offended.

"Course I'm a thief. Stole you, didn't I?"

"You conned me. Not the same thing."

"Did not!" His countenance was agitated. "That was a verbal contract! Fair n' square!"

"A true gentleman," She poked his chest to punctuate her point, equally agitated, "would have saved Mr. and Mrs. Maitland for me free of charge. Maybe I would have been so charmed by your gallantry that you wouldn't have had to intimidate me into saying 'I do.' Maybe, just maybe, you could have segued this hypothetical act of kindness into a friendship, into a romantic relationship, and then eventually a _consensual_ marriage. Maybe. We'll never know, will we?"

The paperboy spoke up, interrupting whatever Betelgeuse had to say, skinny arms wrapped tightly around himself. "Ya beru amerikanskiye den'gi, tozhe." The boy did not speak English, but he knew it when he heard it.

Lydia frowned, concerned, at the child. "Give me a hundred-dollar bill."

"For a fuckin' newspaper?" He growled, though he still dug around in his pocket. _"God damn communists."_

"No, for the kid. Look at him, he's starving and freezing. It's not like it's your money."

"That bleedin' heart o' yours is gonna get ya in trouble one of these days." Despite his clear annoyance, he handed her a thick stack of bills. Lydia's eyes widened. This was much more than one-hundred dollars. The child's eyes bugged and his pink cheeks paled when the beautiful woman placed the entire stack on the stand before him instead of picking out just one bill, as he'd expected. Lydia smiled sweetly at the child and slid the stack closer to him imploringly. "Brosit' etu rabotu, idi chto-nibud' poyest', i vzyat' ostatok svoyey materi." The child was frozen still, his only movement panicked eyes flitting back and forth from the green currency to the dark-haired angel and her threatening companion. Finally, quick as a snake, he snatched it up and ran from his post down a nearby alley. Without a word, he was gone.

"Ungrateful brat!" Betelgeuse yelled out to the retreating street rat.

Lydia nudged him, still smiling considerately. "He was terrified. Probably thinks your Bratva- Russian mafia." She lifted her gaze to his from the alleyway and took his gloved hand in her own. "Doesn't it feel nice using your powers for good instead of evil?"

His scowl remained. "No."

"You did an extraordinarily kind thing for a stranger- a child- in need and I find that exceedingly attractive." She kissed his cheek and swore she could almost see the human flesh there pinking. "If it makes you feel any better, you just cheated the U.S. government out of a lot of money. To add insult to injury, _you gave it to Russia_."

He smirked and shrugged. "Gotta stick it to the man anyway ya can, ya know? Take that, President Toupee."

Lydia giggled madly at his nickname for the Commander-in-Chief. "C'mon, I'm sleepy. Let's go get a room."

* * *

They snagged a deluxe suite at the Ritz-Carlton. It was beyond annoying to him that he couldn't understand a fucking word anyone said. His wife made all of the arrangements. Lydia spoke the language, but she couldn't read Cyrillic. Her mother had never taught her, didn't think that she would ever need it. Currently, they were watching a movie on the obscenely large television provided for them; _From Russia with Love_. In Russian. Without subtitles.

"Ya think _the fuckin' Ritz_ would have some goddamn American television, for all the green I dropped on em'." He was laid out in the center of the bed in a pristine white terry cloth bathrobe, perusing an English-to-Russian dictionary. His disguise had been dropped as soon as they'd entered the room. Lydia, also in a matching bathrobe, was laying on her stomach at the foot of the bed, head rested in her hands.

"Oh, hush. I never get to watch movies in Russian. Nona and Mandy always complain about having to read the subtitles. Besides," She sat up and turned to him, resting her backside backward onto her ankles. "This is a perfect opportunity for you to start learning the language of my people."

"Yeah?" He grinned perversely and reached to pull her so that she was sprawled over him. "You gonna be my teacher?" He took advantage of her surprise and licked her neck, sliding one of his hands underneath her robe to squeeze at her breast. "I'll be a _real good_ student for ya, Mrs. Geuse. I might even turn in my homework on time."

She pulled away, swatting at his hands. "Nuh-uh. No more sex. Not until you can be gentle. I'm sick of looking like somebody beat me up." She had a point. Her hand and knee were scraped, there were strangulation marks around her neck and too many hickeys to count, bruises littered her ankles, wrists, thighs, hips, back, everywhere. His lust simmered and he pulled her back to him by her uninjured hand. His other hand ran up and down her side, gently, while his lips brushed at her neck. "I can be gentle."

"And," she started back up again, arching her neck away from him, "I'm tired. If you'll recall, _I had a rather rude awakening_."

He didn't like the scrapes. He fucking despised the handprints on her neck. But all the other marks, the ones he'd left, those he was proud of. If he had it his way, everyone who saw her would know that she belonged to _him_. "Fine." He grumbled, placing one last firm, rebellious kiss against her collarbone. "How do ya say goodnight in Russian?" It was morning time in Moscow. By the time she awoke, it would be prime time for exploring Soviet Russia's nightlife.

Lydia's lips curled endearingly at the request and she sounded the phrase out slowly for him. "Dobroy nochi."

"Do… broy… no… chi." He sounded back, taking his time to chew up the foreign words. She nodded encouragingly. "Dobroy nochi." He said again, more confident.

"Perfect! Your pronunciation is really good! It probably helps that you already know how to speak other languages." She was sitting up and removing her bathrobe in preparation for bedtime. He pouted petulantly when she tucked her naked body under the covers. "You should practice while I sleep. I know you don't always fall asleep with me." Adam and Barbara almost never slept. "Do you mind if we go see my babushka while we're here? I've never met her. I've only ever talked to her on the phone and exchanged letters."

"Of course I don't fuckin' mind. We're only here cause I thought you'd like it." He juiced his bathrobe off and pulled the blanket over himself as well, eager to feel her warm little body curled up against him. She didn't disappoint. "Ain't shit here for me."

Warm lips kissed his chest and she closed her eyes. "Spasibo."

Instead of becoming annoyed, he flipped through the dictionary for several minutes, translating whatever she'd said looking for the right words to respond. After finding them, he sounded them out quietly until he felt confident in his pronunciation. "Vse chto vy khotite." His words fell on deaf ears. She was already asleep.

* * *

There were still a few hours of daylight left by the time Lydia began stirring. He'd followed her advice. He could now accurately say "Go fuck yourself", "Eat a dick", "Take your top off", and his personal favorite "If you want a comeback, you're gonna have to wipe it off your mom's face." You know, all of the important phrases.

"Dobroye utro." She smiled up at the sight of him reading the dictionary studiously.

" _Vasha kiska na vkus kak sakharnaya vata."_ He growled back, waggling his eyebrows. He'd been saving that one for her.

She gaped at his flawless pronunciation of the vulgar statement and flushed dark red. There was something deeply erotic about him talking dirty to her in her native tongue, filthy as the words were. "I see you've been practicing." She finally spoke, sitting up and stretching. "Mm… I needed that." It was difficult to get a good night's rest with him around. His presence had thrown off her cycle.

He tossed the dictionary into the air and it disappeared. "We should go see your grandma before it gets dark. Old ladies like ta clock it in early."

"You should know that my babushka is deeply religious and extremely traditional. She didn't talk to my mother for years after I was born. Ya know, cause I'm a bastard child. Got over it eventually, but it's still a sore spot. She'll probably be so happy that I'm married that she won't even care that you're… You know. You."

"If by 'me' you mean devilishly handsome, impressively witty, and filthy rich, then yeah," His chest puffed up and he grinned cockily, eye-fucking her bruised and tatted backside. "I know."

* * *

After he'd juiced up her cellphone- to call Grandma and give her a heads up- and another warm, stylish outfit for her, they took off. The old lady had talked Lydia's ear off, beyond excited at the prospect of an impromptu visit from the grandchild she'd never met. His wife had decided to keep him a secret until they showed up, for dramatic effect. She had a streak for theatrics that rivaled his at times. They were pulling up in front of the woman's tiny, rundown home now in a hailed cab. Lydia let out a breath at the sight when they stepped out. "Wow. This is where my mom grew up." A snowy white cat moseyed around the corner of the building and Lydia called to it. It took one look at Betelgeuse, hissed, and retreated back from whence it came. "That must be Mishka. Babushka lives for that cat."

"I guess a love for filthy rodents runs in the family."

"I love you, don't I?" His heart swelled and she pulled him up to the front door and knocked. After a short moment, a tiny woman, tinier even than his wife, opened the door. She had brilliant silver hair tied into a thick braid that fell over her shoulder and honey colored eyes. So that's where Lydia got it from. She clapped two tiny wrinkled hands over her mouth and tears sparkled in the familiar orbs.

"Lydia? Ty vyglyadish' tak zhe, kak tvoya mat' na sleduyushchiy den' ona uyekhala v Ameriku." Her gaze travelled from her granddaughter to the mysterious man. "Vy priveli muzhchinu? Kto etot chelovek?" The string of foreign words took on an accusatory tone. "Skazhi mne, chto ty ne spala s muzhchinoy, vy ne zhenaty! Tvoya mat'-"

Lydia interrupted the ramblings, shaking her head. "Net, babushka! Eto moy muzh! Ya khotel, chtoby eto bylo syurprizom! On ne govorit po-russki."

Whatever Lydia had just said made Grandma pull a one-eighty. The old woman squealed in delight and grabbed Betelgeuse by both cheeks, turning his head side to side to examine him. "Is bootiful man." She spoke after scrutinizing his features the same way that Lydia analyzed her photos. "But is cold." Her hands patted his cheeks, willing blood to rise to them. She opened the door wide and gestured them both inside. "Come! Come! Is small but is home! Let gran-mama cook for you! Too skinny, you both!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paperboy: "Sir! Miss! Would you like a paper? Best price in Moscow!"
> 
> Lydia: "Yes! Yes, please!"
> 
> Lydia: "How much?"
> 
> Paperboy: "Eighty-seven ruble, Miss."
> 
> Paperboy: "I take American money, too."
> 
> Lydia: "Quit this job, go get something to eat, and take the rest to your mother."
> 
> Lydia: "Thank you."
> 
> Betelgeuse: "Anything you want."
> 
> Lydia: "Good morning."
> 
> Betelgeuse: "Your pussy tastes like cotton candy."
> 
> Karina(Babushka): "Lydia? You look just like your mother the day she left for America."
> 
> Karina: "You brought a man? Who is this man?"
> 
> Karina: "Tell me you have not been sleeping with a man you are not married to! Your mother-"
> 
> Lydia: "No, grandma! This is my husband! I wanted it to be a surprise! He doesn't speak Russian."


	17. Chapter 17

"Where do you think they went?"

Claire, Nona, and Mandy were eating lunch together at a local sandwich shop after class. They'd been receiving strange looks all day. Nona and Mandy, being exotic dancers, were used to judgmental stares from their religious peers. Claire was not. She was accustomed to being the Queen B, cream of the crop. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that all the praise and adoration she'd received from her fellow classmates in the past was nothing but hot air. They didn't love _her_. They loved her money. They loved how powerful her last name was. They loved the feeling that they, too, were popular just for being bestowed with her attention. _'Fuck em.'_ The bleach blonde thought bitterly to herself as she noticed two girls in the corner of the shop sniggering and pointing at her and her new friends.

"Who knows?" Mandy swirled her french-fry in a puddle of ketchup. "They have a habit of disappearing for days at a time. Probably off fucking like rabbits."

Lydia and her husband had been gone for nearly two days. She'd skipped school again. Her missed assignments were stashed away in Mandy's backpack.

"How did she even, like, get permission from her parents to get married? And to someone twice her age? He's gotta at least be in his forty's."

Mandy and Nona shared an uncomfortable look. Nona answered. "It's complicated."

Claire crumpled up the deli paper that had held her tuna avocado melt into a ball and dropped it onto her tray. Her curiosity was not sated. "That is an infuriating response."

Mandy smirked and stood, brushing crumbs from her skirt. "If you keep up the whole not being a total bitch thing, I'm sure Lydia will let you in on the secret."

" _Ooooh."_ Claire sing-songed, following the other two girls out of the shop and into Nona's pick-up truck. "I love secrets." She took the middle seat.

Nona sent her a sideways glance that went unnoticed as the flesh of their thighs brushed. "Where to ladies?"

"Why don't we go to my place? I've got a heated pool. And a hot tub." Claire lived in a small mansion just blocks down from all the Greek houses. She'd moved in after her falling out with Jessica. It had way more room than she needed, but the empty spaces were preferable to spending another minute with her so called "sisters."

"Sounds like fun!" Mandy grinned crookedly and wrapped an arm around Claire's shoulders. "See how the one percent lives. Let's go by my apartment first and pick up the weed."

Decision made, Nona took off. Within minutes, they were pulling into the familiar complex. "Be right back." Mandy hopped out of the passenger seat and trotted up the steps, not bothering to spare a glance toward her prized Mustang. However, when she saw that the door to her home was wide open, her heart dropped into her stomach. Lydia couldn't have done that. Lydia was too paranoid. She would _never_ have left their home exposed and unattended like this. Someone had broken in.

* * *

"Oh! Such big appetite! Is good for man to have large stomach. Mean he work hard, can provide for my vnuchka."

When Babushka said that she was going to cook, she meant it. The counters in her modest kitchen were filled with all matter of Russian comfort foods; pirozhkis, beef stroganoff, meat pies, pelmeni, etc. Lots of meat and bread. Without asking if he wanted any, gran-mama had poured Betelgeuse a generous glass of vodka as soon as they'd stepped through the door- "to put blood back in face, is good for you!" Lydia had grimaced at the smell and politely declined. She really was a terrible Russian.

Right now, they were all seated around a smallish wooden table. Betelgeuse was on his third plate. He swallowed his mouthful of seasoned meat and smiled crookedly at his tipsy Grammy-in-Law. "Ma'am," Lydia flushed as her husband regarded her Grandmother respectfully, "Your vnuchka will never have ta work a day in her life if she doesn't wanna."

"You are rich man?" The older woman had already suspected as such. He was dressed in expensive-looking clothing, as was her granddaughter. Not to mention the impressive ring she wore. "What work you do?"

A smooth lie slid from his lips. "I own a chain of successful extermination businesses that have posts all over the world. The only continent we don't serve is Antarctica." He shot a teasing glance towards his wife and she glowered. "We do it all; rodents, roaches, fleas, termites. You name it, we kill it."

"Ah! Is good work you do! Not like- _phtew_ ," Grandma made a sour face and pantomimed spitting, "rat that make baby with my daughter and not marry her. If only you 'exterminate' _him_." Betelgeuse's slimy grin widened. Babushka was a much more interesting woman than his wife had led him to believe that she was. "He buy up buildings in poor neighborhood, like mine, and fix them. Make them bigger, better. Then he sell them to the rich. Push good people to the streets. Is the Devil's work he does. You!" Babushka's wrinkled hand patted his. "You help people. Rid home of pest. You are good man."

Lydia sighed, exasperated, and looked to her grandmother imploringly. "Babushka. Can we please not do this?" She'd had this conversation with the woman a hundred times over. "He's my father and I love him. I don't necessarily like his job, either, but everybody's gotta make a paycheck somehow."

The older woman pursed her already thin lips and rolled her eyes. Betelgeuse cackled at the sight. He'd seen Lydia make that exact face. "Hey! If it makes ya feel better, Grandma, I think he's a deadbeat piece o' shit, too." Karina Volkov burst into boisterous laughter, smacking the table. Lydia's eye twitched. Her phone ringing in her coat pocket distracted her from scolding them. It was Mandy.

"Hello?"

" _Lydia!"_ She sounded frantic. _"You have to come home! Now!"_

"What's wrong?"

Her husband and grandmother's laughter died. They couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but Lydia's voice had taken on an urgent, serious tone that demanded attention.

" _Somebody broke in! It's- it's really bad. Just, please, come home!"_

Lydia's eyes met Betelgeuse's. He didn't like the worry he saw there. "Okay. I'm on my way. Calm down." The call ended and Lydia stood. "We have to go back to America earlier than planned, Babushka."

"What is wrong, my vnuchka?" The frail woman stood as well and pulled her granddaughter into a hug, deeply saddened that their visit was being cut short. "It's my roommate. She needs me. It's an emergency. I'll come back soon. Very soon. I promise."

Sad goodbyes were said. Karina kissed them on their cheeks, insisted they take home leftovers, and they were out the door. Before the goth and the ghost joined hands and departed, Lydia placed the folded up note from her jacket pocket inside the mailbox.

* * *

They apparated to the parking lot, Betelgeuse still in his human clothes. Lydia gasped in horror, dropping the casserole dish her grandmother had given her. It shattered. Mandy's car was trashed. The windows and mirrors were smashed. The tires were slashed. **WHORE** was spray painted across the hood in black. She snapped her head back to look at her husband's. It was stony, emotionless. His fists were clenched at his side.

" _Fuck."_

She ran up the steps. The door was wide open. She didn't stop to greet Nona, who leaned over the bannister; smoking a cigarette and glaring at Mandy's trashed car. Mandy was sobbing and barely coherent, on the phone with the police. Claire was with Nona, occasionally taking a drag off of her smoke. It was as though someone had taken a bat to everything they owned. There was broken glass everywhere. The French doors were smashed. The television was collapsed on top of the coffee table, which was fractured, split in two. Every disc from Lydia's box sets of _The Walking Dead_ was crushed to pieces. Each dish from their kitchen cabinets lay shattered on the floor. The salt circle was no more; unrecognizable. The candles lay broken in half, strewn around the room randomly. The tome was gone, as well as Josh Peters' voodoo doll.

With shaking hands, Lydia lifted the shattered frame that held her first paid magazine submission. The walls had been cleared of all adornments. Every frame was ruined, each work of art desecrated. In their place, there were now verses from the Bible- again, in black spray paint:

**I WILL TEAR DOWN YOUR WALLS AND DEMOLISH YOUR DEFENSES. I WILL PUT AN END TO ALL WITCHCRAFT.**

**DO NOT LET YOUR PEOPLE PRACTICE FORTUNE-TELLING, OR USE SORCERY, OR INTERPRET OMENS, OR ENGAGE IN WITCHCRAFT, OR CAST SPELLS, OR FUNCTION AS MEDIUMS OR PSYCHICS, OR CALL FORTH THE SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. ANYONE WHO DOES THESE THINGS IS DETESTABLE TO THE LORD.**

**SEERS WILL BE PUT TO SHAME. THOSE WHO PRACTICE WITCHCRAFT WILL BE DISGRACED. ALL OF THEM WILL COVER THEIR FACES, BECAUSE GOD WON'T ANSWER THEM.**

Her husband caught her when she slipped on a shattered frame on her way to her bedroom. She didn't stop to thank him, too panicked. Her window was smashed, as was the mirror of her vanity. Her bed was wet and the stench of piss assaulted her nostrils. **SATAN'S COCK SLUT** read the wall above her bed. "No!" The box beneath her bed had been pulled out and rummaged through. She dropped to her knees and started frantically searching, hunting. "It's gone! The handbook! The pictures of the Maitlands! It's all gone!" She was hyperventilating.

Betelgeuse lifted her from the ground and ushered her back out the front door quickly. She tried to light a cigarette, but her hands were shaking too badly. He lit it for her. There was not an accurate word to describe the vehemence that coursed through him. He didn't trust himself to speak. His delicate wife was shaken enough. Nona wrapped an arm around Lydia's waist and her simmering coffee eyes met his. They shared a moment of mutual understanding. She was the only one present who seemed to be feeling what he felt.

A single patrol car pulled into the complex. Mandy joined them on the landing to greet the _one_ officer that was sent to investigate. It was the same one that had arrested Mandy the day after Lydia's birthday. She whimpered, words dying in her throat.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

Nona took charge. "Look for yourself." The cop stepped inside, leaving a careless muddy footprint on one of Lydia's photographs. Betelgeuse's lips curled into a sneer and he had to restrain himself from grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck and throwing him over the edge of the balcony. He did not hold himself back, however, when the pig's lips curved into an almost imperceptible smirk at the sight of the graffiti on their walls.

"IS SOMETHING FUCKIN' FUNNY?" The cop was grabbed by the throat and pinned to the defiled wall, his toes dangling several inches from the ground. "I COULD SHOW YA SOMETHIN' _REALLY FUNNY_ IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE LOOKIN' FOR! EVER HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE COP THAT CAME TO INVESTIGATE A B &E AND GOT HIS TONGUE CUT OUT OF HIS SMUG, COCK-SUCKING MOUTH BY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC? _IT'S A FUCKING RIOT_!" Officer Cum-Guzzler was trying to reach for his gun, but it had inexplicably vanished from the holster.

" _Betelgeuse!"_ Lydia's hands were pulling at his arm desperately, uselessly. The other girls were crowded in the doorway, watching with wide eyes. His crazed expression twisted into a soft smile as he turned his head, briefly, to Lydia. "Don't worry, baby, I got this." He released his grip on the waste of tax-payer dollars' neck and grabbed him by the hair instead to drag him outside. The girls parted for him. He pulled him down the steps all the way to the patrol car and slammed his head down on the hood. His women did not follow. They just watched from the upper level. The pig groaned, seeing stars. "Y-you're going to jail, asshole."

Betelgeuse cackled madly and slammed the cop's head once more, creating a dent in the hood. "You have the right to shut the fuck up." He pointed a hand up to where the four girls stood huddled together. "You see those bitches up there?" The hand gripped in Officer Needle-Cock's hair twisted his head awkwardly so that he was forced to look where his attacker was pointing. He felt as though his neck might snap under the immense pressure. "Those are _my_ bitches. You try to arrest any of them? You die. You have a buddy try to arrest one? You die. A single fucking pig gives them any trouble at all, I don't care if it's a fuckin' speedin' ticket, you die." He flipped the man around so that they were eye to eye. Where once there had been sharp, jade colored eyes there was now nothing but black. The pig screamed, seeing visions of Hell within the abyss, and began struggling in earnest. Betelgeuse snorted, a smirk curling his lips, and released the cop. "Leave."

Officer Semen-Breath didn't need to be told twice.


	18. Chapter 18

"You ain't gonna be livin' here anymore."

After Sherriff Dick-Cheese made a hasty retreat, tires screeching on the blacktop, Betelgeuse stormed back up the steps right past them and back into the trashed apartment. He beelined for the kitchen and dropped to his knees, unconcerned with the broken glass, and began looking through the debris. Lydia followed right behind him without missing a beat.

"WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU TO ATTACK A COP?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR _GODDAMN_ MIND?!" She was red-faced, teeth bared. Her previous panicking anxiety had evolved into a full-blown rampage.

"Crossed that line a long time ago, cupcake." He barely acknowledged her, single-minded in his search.

"DON'T CALL ME CUPCAKE!"

The other three shuffled in. Claire was freaking out. "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod! I have to get out of here! He's gonna come back with, like, a freaking swat team and we're all going to get shot or go to jail! What are we going to do!?" They had been too far away to hear exactly what he'd said to the officer, or shown him. The platinum blonde was still laboring under the delusion that Lydia's husband was ordinary. Twisted. Demented. But ordinary, nonetheless.

"Claire makes an EXCELLENT point, _B_." Lydia joined him in the kitchen, glaring down at him as he continued to ignore her. "What are _you_ going to do when he shows up with more cops?"

"AH HA!" He stood from his kneeling position, holding a black sharpie high in the air, victorious. It was the one they used to mark the calendar in the kitchen, the calendar that was now shredded to pieces beneath his feet. Nothing had been left untouched. "C'mere." He darted to Lydia's side and quickly, almost roughly, started unbuttoning her coat. "Get this off, fast." Sharp jade eyes briefly lifted to her jacketed friends. It was a chilly day in Autumn Woods. "You, too." His work was forcibly paused when Lydia looked at him like he'd just grown another head and slapped his hands away.

"What _the fuck_ are you doing?"

Betelgeuse was losing his patience with her. _"We don't have time for this, Lydia."_ He yanked her back, pulling the coat from her and dropping to his knees to lift her shirt up and access her abdomen. "They have the book. We have to take precautions." The cap of the sharpie was torn off with his teeth and he started drawing on the expanse of flesh to the right of her belly button.

Understanding dawned on her. They'd done nasty, nasty things to Josh with next to nothing. Whoever had broken in had been privy to all their personal belongings, and she and Mandy had not yet had time to fully catalog the missing items. "Shit," Lydia whispered. "Okay, you heard him. Nona," The English girl was an artist. She could easily duplicate the twining rune he was tracing on her. "Can you copy this for Mandy? And Claire, it's probably best if you get one, too."

Nona nodded diligently and ran down to her car where her art supplies would be. Claire was hysterical. "What do you mean we don't have time for this? This is the only thing we have time for! Why-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, shut the fuck up. _Got a voice like nails on a fuckin' blackboard._ He's not bringin' any of his cop buddies around. I'd bet the crown jewels that right now he's on his way home to have a beer, gather the last remaining shreds of his manhood, and cry himself to sleep."

Claire gaped at him as Nona returned. She couldn't believe his gall, his cockiness, how extremely sure of himself he was. "You're insane. You're all insane."

Mandy and Nona blocked her way as she turned to leave. "Nope. Nuh-uh." Mandy crossed her arms. "You can go home if you want, but not before you get marked up. Whoever did this is out to get us. You're our friend now. That makes you a target."

They held fast when she tried to push through them. "I'm not going to jail because of you crazy people!"

Nona grunted with the force of holding Claire in. "If he says the cops aren't coming, then they aren't going to come!" Claire cried out in frustration and almost succeeded in slipping through the human barricade. "UGH! GODDAMNIT _LYDIA! BETELGEUSE!_ JUST TELL HER THE TRUTH ALREADY!"

When Lydia's husband cleared his throat loudly, standing from where he'd been kneeling before his wife, Mandy and Nona forcibly turned Claire around so that could get an eyeful. There he was, in all his striped, decrepit glory. The socialite's reaction couldn't have been more cliché. She screamed an ear-splitting, headache-inducing shriek. Then, her crystalline eyes fluttered, rolled into the back of her skull, and she became dead weight. Nona and Mandy caught her before she could hit the ground.

Betelgeuse's grin dripped with sleaze as he brushed off his shoulders. "Oh, yeah. I still got it."

"Well," Mandy murmured, lugging Claire's unconscious body toward the couch, "at least she won't fight us like this."

Lydia was examining her rune with a shard of mirror. She stood next to the couch so that Nona could use her for reference while she began work on Claire's tan abdomen. "What exactly does this do?" It looked like an Elvish rendition of a snowflake, twisted and curling about her muscles. In truth, she was impressed that he could reproduce such a drawing from memory alone.

"Wards off harmful magic." He was knelt before Mandy the same way he had with her just moments before. Mandy flushed darkly when he grabbed her hip to keep her still, the cold sharpie scratching lightly against her olive skin. The ghost was merciful and spoke nothing of the pinkened cheeks that he was acutely aware of.

"Huh. Guess I know what to get for my next tattoo."

Nona finished up with Claire and pulled the girl's top back down. She took Mandy's place when Betelgeuse swatted the blonde's backside to mark that he was finished. "Don't even think about it." She sneered down at him, coffee eyes boiling when he went to grab her hip the same way he'd done with Mandy. The poltergeist waggled his eyebrows up at her, but nevertheless, the unnecessary hand retracted and he began work on the scant inches of exposed caramel midriff. Once he was done, Nona stepped back and roughly pulled her sweater back down.

"What about you?"

Betelgeuse stood, brushing shards of broken glass from his knees, and threw his wife a sideways glance. "That's cute, babe." It was. He was only being half sarcastic. The adorable furrow in her brows suggested that she honestly thought a bunch of snot-nosed kids- the culprits must have been classmates of theirs- with an amateur's spell tome could really hurt him. "I'd love to see em try anythin' with me." He didn't fear exorcism. In order to do that they'd need something that had belonged to him when he was alive. Good fuckin' luck with that.

Lydia frowned at his response and said nothing, retreating to her bedroom to more accurately assess the damage. Her laptop was ripped in half, the cracked screen separated from the hinges that kept it joined with the keyboard. Both of her cameras, digital and polaroid, were in a similar state. When she stepped into her bathroom her nose was assaulted by an overbearing artificially sweet smell. It was an unwelcome reprieve from the scent of urine that clung to her sheets. All her beauty products- lotions, oils, soaps, even her toothpaste and mouthwash- had been emptied out into the sink, one tube at a time. The sight of the multi-colored concoction caused crippling anxiety to rise within her once more.

She knew people didn't like her. People had never liked her. She still occasionally questioned internally why Nona and Mandy bothered putting up with her at all. Whoever did this didn't just dislike her. They hated her.

"I'll fix it."

Lydia found herself instinctually raising her gaze from the sink to the splintered mirror to look for his reflection before remembering. Her eyes landed on her own image instead. "I know."

"You'll get it all back."

"I know." She brushed past him to return to her room, picking up her laptop and digital camera. Thankfully, the memory card was still intact. The polaroid was beyond repair. Hopefully, she'd be able to save her laptop's hard drive. It housed years' worth of photos that were definitely not replaceable. "Mandy's stuff too?" The dancer wasn't like Lydia. She didn't have the luxury of wealthy parents to turn to. She'd worked hard for everything she owned.

"Ya gotta ask?"

"If you don't want me to live here anymore, where do you propose I live?" He followed her as she traipsed back to the living room, stepping over her scattered belongings. Nona was sitting on the couch, Claire's head in her lap. Mandy's door was open and she could see her friend scavenging for unbroken things. The words **DISEASED HOOKER** were painted above her bed. Luckily, Mandy's room was almost always messy, so the intruders hadn't been able to effectively decimate everything she owned. The blonde was forming a small pile of important, undamaged things beside the open door.

"If I had it my way, you'd drop out o' school and travel the world with me. Somethin' tells me you wouldn't go for that, though."

Lydia shot him a look that confirmed that thought and joined Mandy. Her bed was piss-soaked, too. She was crying again. "Hey, it's okay. It's just stuff. B will replace it. Look!" Lydia pulled a framed photo from the cluttered shelf in Mandy's closet. "Remember this Halloween?" How could she not? It was the first Halloween they'd spent together their Freshman year. They'd gone to _The Rear End_ , the goth's first trip to a strip club, and Lydia had gotten a lap dance on the house. There she was, dressed as a vampire- fake blood dripping down her neck- hands abashedly covering her face, while a scantily clad sexy cat version of Lucy Allen ground against her crotch, laughing madly. This photo was tucked away in the closet because Lydia demanded it not be out where her parents could see it on the rare occasion they came to visit.

Mandy smiled through the tears and wiped her face on her shoulder. "Yeah. You got the pretty girl discount."

Claire was coming to in the other room. "Shhh." Nona hushed, brushing away strands of platinum blonde hair as the girl hummed in discontent.

"What… What happened…?" Her eyes slowly peeled open, gaze fuzzy. Eventually, it focused in on Nona's worried face. "There was a monster…"

"Pft. How'd you like it if I started callin' ya names? You know what, you're lucky you're still around after all the shit you gave my wife."

Nona covered her ears with both hands when Claire screamed again. Luckily, she didn't faint this time. "Claire!" Lydia darted out of Mandy room and stood before the hyperventilating girl, blocking Claire's view of her husband. She placed both hands on her shoulders in an attempt to placate her. "Claire, chill out. It's okay, I promise. I know, he's uhh…" Lydia shot her husband a glance over her shoulder. "A little strange looking-,"

"That is a severe understatement, Lydia! He looks, like, dead!" Claire was craning her neck to look around the obstruction, crystalline eyes bugged.

"That would be because he is," Nona spoke up beside her. "I know, I didn't believe it at first either, but he is definitely deceased. B, show her a magic trick or something."

"I'm not a fuckin' trick pony." He rolled up his sleeves, growling, and started imitating his women's voices, one at a time, eyelashes fluttering mockingly. _"B, wash the dishes. B, could you kill some boys for me? B, prove you're-,"_

Lydia interrupted him as he started to simulate Nona's English accent. "We never asked you to do any of those things."

" _Yeah, whatever._ Check it out, Barbie." His image flickered. One moment he was the man she knew already, the handsome dark blonde one, and then he was the monster again. The offensive phrases painted on the walls began melting away into black puddles on the ground. The puddles seeped into the cracks in the floorboards until all evidence was gone. Everything began reconstructing itself; the dishes, the television, the art, everything. They all, even Lydia who was more used to his tricks than any of them, watched with fascination as broken glass and splintered wood flew, avoiding them, through the air and returned to where it belonged. Claire and Nona cried out in surprise when the couch lurched forward and took its place in the center of the room, where it had been before they'd built the witch's circle. Within minutes, it was as though nothing had happened. As though there had been no break in at all.

Betelgeuse started, speaking to Mandy and Lydia when it became clear that all the women were interested in doing was sitting there with their mouths open. "There, ya got your shit back. You're still not livin' here anymore, though. I don't fuckin' like it. Security sucks."

"Come live with me."

It was Claire's turn to be on the receiving end of gawking stares.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit shorter than my usual, but I felt that the ending was too strong for me to try and top. Cliffhangers, ya know I love em. Thank you, loyal readers and reviewers! Your praise keeps me writing!

"Are you sure?" Lydia was skeptical. "What's your policy on cats?" A sharp gasp passed through her lips and honey eyes widened. " _Oh, my God_." Her face drained of all color, what little there was left. "Has anyone seen Luna?" When the girls looked to each other for cues and realized with a jolt that no one had, there was a collective panic.

"I'll look around here. Maybe she got scared and hid in some nook." Nona had already set to work moving boxes into the hallway from the closet, clicking her tongue. That was how she'd always called Luna to her. Nothing answered.

"The door was wide open when we got here, she might've run outside." Mandy was already swinging it open, Lydia close behind her. _"LUNA!"_ Mandy didn't even stop to appreciate her Mustang, which had been returned to its former glory. They had to find her. They had to. The alternative was something that none of them wished to entertain.

* * *

Claire and Betelgeuse were left to their own devices; her shuffling uncomfortably on the couch and him glaring down at her, hands on his hips. "What's the con, girlie?"

Claire, who had been trying her damnedest to ignore him, met his intense gaze finally with pretty confusion. "Wh-what?"

"You know what."

Her head shook, brows knitted tightly. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

The ghost dropped down to one knee and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the erect knee. With every inch that he moved forward, she leaned back. One of his already narrowed eyes slit even further, searching her soul. " _People don't change._ You better hope I never find out that _you_ had somethin' to do with this. Don't offer my fuckin' wife friendship and a roof over her head if you're full o' shit."

" _Betelgeuse,"_ Nona growled out, bent under the kitchen sink. Luna wasn't there. She stood with a huff, tossing back her wild curls. "Leave her be. She didn't do this." Claire had been a right nasty bitch in the past, but she wasn't cruel. The socialite didn't have this kind of animosity in her. "No. My moneys on Alpha Delta Gamma- Josh's fraternity. We put him in the hospital, supposedly."

" _Shit."_ Claire wrenched around in her seat to meet Nona's eyes. "Jeff- you know Jeff, from Econ?" Nona nodded. It was the only class the two shared. "He knows how to pick locks. He helped Josh, Todd, and Noah break into Professor Amari's home a couple months ago to, like, play some stupid prank or something."

Nona scoffed. " _Prank?_ They smashed up her shit and painted _'Go Home Sand Monkey'_ on her front door."

Claire looked sick. "Oh. I… I didn't know that…"

"It's whatever. Just- _fuck_ \- just help me find this cat."

* * *

Betelgeuse went searching for his wife and the dirty blonde after Claire and Nona joined forces. They weren't difficult to find, screaming the kitten's name desperately like that. They'd wandered into the woods in separate directions and their voices echoed.

"Lyds." She jumped when he appeared behind her out of nowhere.

" _Oh, Beej."_ She threw her arms around his neck. Her hot tears melted his frigid flesh. "She's not saying anything."

His wife didn't resist when he pulled her up, legs wrapped around his waist, to hold her like a child. "C'mon, we got a lead. Nona n' Claire think some frat dickheads did it. I might be able to save your kitty cat, but you gotta let me do things my way."

Lydia nodded against his neck, hands fisting in the material of his jacket. "I don't care. Just bring her back."

* * *

They piled into Nona's pickup. Nona and the two blondes took the front while Lydia and her husband got comfortable in the bed of the truck. The plan was to drop Lydia, Claire, and Mandy off at Claire's mansion while Betelgeuse investigated the frat house. It was close enough to Claire's that the invisible tether that bound him to his wife wouldn't be a problem. Nona was going to go back to her own home and see if it, too, had been vandalized. It didn't matter in the end. She was probably going to take Claire up on her offer. Also, as tense as their relationship was, she knew that the cantankerous poltergeist would restore it for her if she asked. He had a weakness and that weakness was pretty women- his little wife especially.

"What if it's too late?" Said wife sobbed out, pressed against his side to avoid the cutting wind. Her heart ached with worry. "What if they drowned her? What if they burned her alive? What if they put her in a microwave? What if-,"

"Baby, baby, baby. Ya gotta stop." She'd definitely seen too many horror movies. "If they did any of that shit I'll show em' the meanin' of fuckin' pain." It hurt him to see her so miserable. He knew better than to just offer her a new cat. The well-meaning threat did little to placate her.

Lydia quieted her despairing sobs to sniffles as they pulled onto the block where the Alpha Delta Gamma brothers lived. "That's it." She pointed to a large house. The lights were off. He kissed her hard before hopping over the edge of the truck. _"Wait!"_ She whisper-yelled, reaching for him. "Claire lives three blocks that way. There's a fountain in the front yard, you can't miss it. I'll be waiting up for you."

"Don't worry, sugar." The glint in her eyes suggested a fear that he might disappear for a few days again. He took her head in both hands and kissed each of her wet, red cheeks. "We'll be goin' ta bed early tonight." With that, he disappeared.

* * *

"So…" Claire began, pouring them all margaritas while Mandy packed her neon pink bong. "How did you end up, like, married to a murderous ghost?"

Claire's kitchen was massive and housed all the latest appliances in chrome. Lydia had half expected the home to be decorated with nothing but pink pastels but was pleasantly surprised to find upon their arrival that Mr. Brewster had overseen the interior decorating. The inside was a masterpiece. A grand staircase greeted them once they passed through the massive double doors, silhouetted by a gargantuan window that encompassed the wall and provided them with a view of the wild forests that reached far beyond Claire's backyard.

"I can see ghosts. All ghosts. Not just my husband. Dunno why. Started when I was sixteen." Lydia commenced, decorum lost on her. She was too worried about her kitten to be bothered with social niceties. "We made a deal. It was supposed to be a marriage of 'inconvenience', but he lied about that. The rest is kind of a long story." The first deep sip of mango margarita went down sweetly, followed by a pleasant shudder as the alcohol warmed her from within. "What else do you wanna know? Fair warning, by the end of the night you will no longer be Catholic."

Claire giggled and took the bong Mandy passed her way. "Like, I'm pretty sure I threw Catholicism out the window the night I shoved a pin needle up a Ken doll's ass and pretended it was my ex-fiancé." That's what he got for pressuring her into anal. "Tell me about the afterlife."

Lydia took another long drink from her margarita, downing half of it, and smirked forebodingly. She leaned forward on the island counter, honey eyes darkening. "There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. There's only where we are now, and where we go when we die. See, there's this place called the Neitherworld…"

* * *

Nona grimaced when she pulled into her complex and saw that her door was wide open. Oh, well. She'd suspected no less than exactly this.

**A MAN OR WOMAN THAT HATH A FAMILIAR SPIRIT, OR THAT IS A WIZARD, OR THAT IS A WITCH SHALL SURELY BE PUT TO DEATH. THEY SHALL STONE THEM WITH STONES: THEIR BLOOD SHALL BE UPON THEM.**

The English girl scoffed at the sight of the graffiti and kicked her front door shut. Various sex toys littered the floor. They looked abused; as though the boys had tried to do damage to the hard plastic and failed miserably. She drifted room to room listlessly, gathering the toys into a plastic bag from the kitchen and ignoring the rest of the damage. It wouldn't do for Betelgeuse to see these. She'd never hear the end of it.

 **DYKE NIGGER** read the wall above her piss covered, velvet, king-sized bed. A sharp, bitter laughter bubbled up in her throat at the crude words.

"How very creative. Tell me something I don't know."

"How about this?" A voice spoke from the shadows behind her. She tried to scream, but a large glove-covered hand sealed her mouth. Two black cloaked figures emerged from the bathroom. It was too dark to see beneath their hoods. They were still here. She'd caught them in the act. She was _alone_. Horrible dread pooled in her gut. Nona cried out against the leather that was slickening with her spit, kicking and struggling to avail. It was useless. Whoever held her was too strong.

" _You're fucked."_


	20. Chapter 20

Betelgeuse sneered into the darkness. No one was home. He'd turned the place upside down looking for the missing items; the books, the doll, the photos of the Maitlands and his wife, and most vital of all, the small black kitten. His magic devastated every room he visited. It didn't matter to him that some members of the fraternity might be innocent. As far as he was concerned, they were all guilty; be it literally or by association. Invisible knives cut into every pillow, every mattress, every piece of cushioned furniture, spraying goose down everywhere. The feathers stuck to the foul-smelling diarrhea-vomit concoction that dripped down the newly bare walls. Family photos, homework, textbooks, any piece of paper that seemed like it might be important burned in the pit in the backyard. He'd been tempted to let them burn where they stood, to allow the whole place to be engulfed in flames. But then how would anyone be able to appreciate all his hard work? The frat house took every violation that his women's apartment had faced and then some. He didn't bother writing any pussy notes on the walls. He was better than that. The destruction spoke for itself.

He wanted to wait, to be there whenever the sorry fucks eventually returned home. However, when the two-hour mark approached impatience laced with worry started to seep in. _'Why the fuck aren't they back yet?'_ It was past midnight and he'd foolishly promised his wife an early bedtime. His pride would take a heavy blow if he returned to her empty handed. That, and he'd left her unguarded. There were slimy, cruel people out and about. Religious fanatics that wanted to hurt her, and what was he doing? Fucking waiting.

He cursed Juno. This would be over already were it not for the limitations she'd placed on his powers. It wouldn't even have been a problem in the first place. He would have been able to steal Lydia away from all this arbitrary human shit the night of her birthday. Yeah, she probably would have been pissed at him at first, but she would've gotten over it when she saw everything that he could do for her, _to_ her.

Grumbling to himself about "dried up crones" and "punk-bitch frat boys", he reluctantly abandoned the house to begin his trek to Claire's mansion. He would not allow his wife's safety to be compromised for some scraps of paper and a fucking cat. He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, and dreaded seeing Lydia's face upon his return. She was expecting him to come back with something, anything, and he had _nothing_. Never before had he felt so useless.

" _MEOW!"_

His self-depreciating reverie was broken by a loud squeaking mewl. Lifting his gaze from the rock he'd been kicking, he stood still and waited. _"MEOW!"_ There it was again! He didn't allow himself to get too hopeful. After all, the sound could have come from any cat. However, when a ball of black fluff no larger than a coffee mug emerged from the shadows darting unmistakably in his direction, all doubt left him. It was grabbed up by the scruff of its neck and a wide, victorious grin revealed his grimy teeth.

" _You_ are going to make some _very_ pretty girls _very_ happy." Betelgeuse dropped the kitten into one of his deeper pockets and continued towards Claire's with a jovial bounce in his step.

" _MEOW!"_ It started back up incessantly, poking its head out of the pocket and digging its claws into him. It didn't hurt, so he wasn't annoyed, but the thing seemed eager to get his attention in a way that it never had before. It clawed its way out of the pocket, crawling until it stood balanced on his shoulder. _**"MEOW!"**_

Now he was annoyed. Growling, he stuffed it back into the same pocket. Again, it climbed out. This process was repeated several times until the rat had the gall to scratch him. Forcing himself not to hurt the little beast, he relented, grumbling, and let it sit on his shoulder and meow his ear off. Were it any other mangy animal its neck would have been snapped.

"Road-kill, you've gotta be the luckiest fuckin' cat I've ever met."

* * *

" _Wake up. Wake up, curly-haired Mistress. Wake up."_

Nona's eyes snapped open. Her head pounded, and she couldn't see anything. At first, she thought maybe there was something obscuring her vision, but when she blinked and her eyelashes didn't brush against anything she knew that she was cloaked in darkness. Her hands were tied together at the wrist behind her back with something sticky and unyielding. When she opened her mouth to reply to Luna, she realized that the same sticky material held her lips shut. _'Duct tape.'_

Large panicked breaths were sucked in through her nose as memories flooded her brain. She'd caught them, the vandalizers. They must have knocked her out. She attempted to straighten her legs, which were bent and tucked against her chest tightly, but her cage was too small for them to fully extend. They refused to separate, bound at the ankles with more duct tape. When she heard the honk of a horn outside, close by, she understood with a sick feeling that she was in the trunk of a car.

" _Breathe slowly, curly-haired Mistress."_

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw Luna. The tiny thing was hog-tied, its tiny paws held together with a rubber band. "Mph!" Nona tried desperately to wet the tape with her saliva. If she could, maybe its grasp on her mouth would slacken and she'd be able to spell-cast. Maybe bust the trunk open and escape from the moving vehicle. She'd never tried to move anything that was anchored in place before, but she didn't see many options available to her at the moment. When the car lurched to a stop, making her roll abruptly, that train of thought vanished.

" _Free Luna! Free Luna and she will get help!"_

Nodding her head vigorously, Nona rolled so that her back was facing the kitten and stretched her constricted arms painfully until she felt fur. Just as the trunk creaked open, a bright flashlight in her face blinding her, her finger hooked around the elastic that bound Luna and she pulled with conviction. The kitten bounded.

"Fuck!" Nona allowed her eyes to slit open and she saw three blurry figures. The light blocked out their features. "Well? Go after it!"

"Dude, cmon, it's just a stupid cat. It'll probably get eaten by an owl, anyway. Besides, we've got this bitch now. A dead nigger-witch sends a better message than a dead cat."

Nona's blood froze in her veins.

"Whatever. Lazy asshole." One of them reached for her and she scrambled away from the reaching hand to the best of her ability. It was useless. A hand fisted in her hair and pulled her roughly from the trunk. She was deposited on a bed of dirt. Rocks and twigs dug painfully into her bare knees.

"Mmmph!" She renewed her efforts on loosening the duct tape.

"I don't know about this, guys." It was Jeff Tucker, the lockpicker, who spoke. Nona recognized him instantly. "It's one thing to gut a cat. This is a person. I don't think this is right."

"Do you want to be a brother, or don't you?" The one who had so carelessly dropped her to the gravel slapped her across the face before grabbing her by the hair once more, wrenching her neck backward and flooding her face with an unforgiving beam of light. "This vile devil-worshipper wouldn't hesitate to cut your throat open in your sleep." The raging fire in the bound girl's eyes confirmed that statement.

"I…" Jeff ran a hand through his mousy brown hair, brushing his hood off in the process. He _did_ want to be a brother. Being a member of Alpha Delta Gamma carried a lot of weight. A lot. A six-figure salary kind of weight. If he were a brother, he'd have connections in high places for the rest of his life, and so would his future children. He'd be set.

"You _saw_ their den of sin! You _know_ she hurt Josh! If you love Jesus Christ, if you love God, if you love your future brothers, you will shut your goddamn pussy mouth and hand me the rope."

With a heavy heart, Jeff obeyed. The one whose hand was fisted in her hair dropped her before circling around so that they were groin to face, him looking down at her. She recognized this one but didn't know his name. He spit on her cheek and she recoiled with disgust, wiping as much of the saliva off onto the fabric of her shirt as she could. _'Take off the tape. Do it. Fucking do it you dead motherfucker.'_

"It really is a shame. You would've made somebody a really hot maid one day." The nameless scum knelt. She could smell funyuns on his breath. "But, like granddaddy always said, the only good nigger is a dead nigger."

* * *

Claire had gone to bed after her third margarita. Lydia's tales of her supernatural spouse, the Neitherworld, and her adolescence spent living with ghosts had held her in rapt attention for hours. Had anyone else spewed such insane nonsense her way, she'd have scoffed and flipped them a meticulously manicured hot pink middle finger. But the raven-haired girl had already proven that she was full of a lot of things, none of them being shit.

Mandy hadn't lasted much longer. Claire presented them both with any one of the five fully furnished bedrooms her mansion had to offer. Mandy was eager to see Betelgeuse return with Luna as well, but the events of the day had taken their toll on her. So, when Claire pointed her towards a lavishly dressed king size bed, it was hard to turn her down.

Lydia was alone now, seated on the edge of the elegant fountain that decorated her ex-bully's front lawn. The structure depicted three mermaids, naked from the waist up. The triad sat in a triangle, perpetually refilling the pool with water from their down-turned basins. There were no coins at the bottom, Lydia noted with melancholy. No wishes had yet been made.

" _Pale Mistress!"_

Her head snapped up as the familiar child-like voice resonated within her head. Before she could gather her bearings, a bundle of ebony fur burst forth from the darkness of the lawn. Luna bounded onto her lap, propping herself up with two small paws against her chest. Betelgeuse followed behind the kitten, a deep scowl on his face. "That is one annoying fucking cat, babe."

" _Curly-haired Mistress is in trouble! She was taken!"_

"Meowed my ears off the whole way here. Need ta get a muzzle-"

"Shush!" Lydia stopped him with her urgent expression, honey eyes trained intensely on the kitten. "Luna, what did you say?"

" _Men in hoods! Men who take Luna and say vile things about Mistresses! They steal Luna's curly-haired Mistress!"_


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long since last I updated! It'll be at least another week before I post again. My subscription to Microsoft Office ends today and I can't renew it until Tuesday. I also apologize for the shortness of this chapter. It was written after twenty hours sans sleep with the help of a pot of coffee. It's about six-hundred words less than my usual. Hopefully, the intensity of it will make up for its briefness. I'll be back. I haven't abandoned this story, I promise.

Nona's already furiously pounding heart sped up as a poorly constructed noose was placed around her neck. A proper hanging, with an accurately built noose, would break the victim's neck instantly, painlessly. Nona knew that the piss poor job they'd done coiling the rope would result in her slowly choking to death. With a renewed vigor, her tongue poked at the duct tape and her jaw attempted to stretch. If she could just free her lips she could send them all flying into the nearby lake and make her escape. Jeff moved her hair out of the way. His touch was sickeningly gentle and there was a shadow of guilt darkening his moss-green eyes _. "I'm sorry."_ He whispered so that his prospective brothers wouldn't hear him. They wouldn't have even if he'd spoken at full volume. They were laughing obnoxiously at a crude, racist joke and tying the other end of the noose to the bumper of the car. The rope was laced over a thick tree branch. As the car would roll forward, she'd be strung up. It was a good old fashioned lynching. Nona suspected, judging by the burning looks the other two boys occasionally sent her way, that Jeff's presence was the only thing keeping her safe from sexual assault.

His hushed words caused her blood to boil, and when he came back around to face her, she headbutted his face as hard as she possibly could. His nose _cracked_ against her forehead and he tumbled backward, holding his shirt up to his nose to stop the flow of blood. "Fucking bitch!" Nona ducked down, removing the noose from her neck, and hopped away as best she could. Her ankles were still bound with duct tape, so she didn't make it far before the one who'd spit on her earlier noticed the commotion and tackled her to the ground.

"Seriously, Jeff? How'd you let- AH FUCK!" Before the boy had been able to tug her back up from the ground, Nona had used one of the hands tied behind her back to grab hold of his crotch firmly. Her long, red-painted nails were now painfully digging into his ball sack. "LET GO!" One of his hands tangled in her hair to pull viciously. Nona just grit her teeth through the pain and dug her nails in deeper. She was forced to let go, however, when her head was slammed into the ground.

The environment blurred around her as she was once more dragged by her hair the noose was again looped over her head. "Let's just get this over with," Jeff muttered bitterly. His voice was nasally and he avoided meeting Nona's currently disoriented gaze.

Everything came back into focus for her when the car started rolling slowly forward, dragging her. The rope tightened around her neck as she was forced onto her backside. She could feel the tape beginning to loosen around her mouth. Panic began to seep into every fiber of her being as her feet lifted off the ground and her airway was constricted further. There was a horrible fear that even if she did manage to get the tape off, she wouldn't have the oxygen required to spellcast. Still, she poked her tongue and stretched her jaw until finally, victoriously, the binding gave out and she could move her lips.

The car eventually stopped. The three boys watched in the rearview mirror as the caramel-skinned girl hung, motionless, from the tree. "She's… She's dead, right? She's not moving. Oh God." The sick feeling in Jeff's stomach grew, overpowering the ache of his shattered nose.

Brad Vickers stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette. "Dead or unconscious. Help me tie this around the base of the tree. Go on, grab right there."

Jeff and Peter Clark stepped out of the car to obey Brad's order. Peter took hold of the rope so that Nona would remain hanging while Brad untied it from the bumper. Meanwhile, Jeff hesitantly approached the hung girl.

"…?"

Was he seeing things? It almost looked like her dead eyes were staring right into his soul. And then he noticed that the rope wasn't digging into her neck. And then she blinked. " _Oh fuck…_ OH FUCK!"

His outburst made Peter and Brad stop what they were doing, dropping the rope in surprise. Brad's cigarette fell from his mouth as his jaw slackened. The surprise evolved into sheer terror when the girl they believed dead didn't immediately drop to the ground. Instead, she continued to float in the air without any help, defying the laws of gravity. With a guttural cry, her arms and legs wrenched out to her sides and the duct tape that had kept her constrained fell to the ground in scraps. Jeff stumbled backward toward his frozen comrades. The scorned witch pointed a finger forward, toward the abandoned cigarette on the ground, and spoke.

" _In the mortal plain,_

_Cause me no pain,_

_Save your face,_

_Meet the flame,"_

Before the three could begin to know what was happening, the insignificant glowing ember at their feet roared to life. It burned a perfect circle in the tall grass, trapping them.

" _So mote it be."_

With ethereal grace, Nona floated to the ground, removing her noose as she went. This is how Lydia, Betelgeuse, and Luna found her.

" _NONA!"_ Lydia broke into a desperate run as soon as she spotted the flames through the thicket. She practically tackled her friend, wrapping her arms tight around the girl. "I didn't think we'd find you in time!" The goth pulled away and Nona saw that there were fat tears rolling down her face. Lydia stroked her curly hair, looking her up and down for any signs of injury. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did-Did they...?" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Nona laughed out loud and then did something that she would never have done, not without the help of a little liquid courage, anyway. She pressed her lips firmly against Lydia's. The dark-haired girl's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. When Nona broke the kiss, with a resounding _smack_ , she broke into hysterical giggles and fell backward against the tree that was almost her final resting place. "I'm ALIVE!"

Lydia rose a trembling hand to her lips, which still hummed from Nona's warmth. It was then that she noticed the noose on the ground. Her horrified honey eyes followed the rope up and over the branch all the way to the circle of fire that still trapped the panicking frat boys. "They were going to _hang_ you?" Disgust furled in her gut. Nona just nodded her head, incapable of speech, her mad laughter doubling in volume.

Betelgeuse was approaching at a more leisurely pace, Luna a few feet in front of him. He ignored the women in favor of investigating the culprits. They screamed in fear as the flames licked at their skin, making them sweat bullets. It didn't take him more than a few moments to piece together the scene. Nona was clearly in shock after her narrow escape. "Hey! Beyoncé!"

She turned her head toward him and gasped for breath before replying. "Carcass!"

"Wanna, y'know, _have a lil' fun_ with em' before I get em' out o' here?"

"You know what?" She ran a hand down her grinning face and sucked in a glorious breath of air. "I'm good. You can have them."

"If you say so." With that, the boys and the flame withered out of existence. Whistling, Betelgeuse began searching the car and was pleased to discover all of the stolen items. They, too, were banished from sight along with the vehicle and the noose. Any stranger walking by- though who would be traipsing this deep in the woods this late at night other than them is an utter mystery- would only see a goth, a Brit, and their kitten taking an innocent stroll through the forest.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of torture. You have been warned.

" _Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death."_

Jeff awoke to an echo of voices. An unending cry that sounded like a horrible cross between laughter, sobbing, and screaming drowned out the others and forced him into consciousness. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the human torch splayed against the concrete wall, the source of the ghastly noises. No other light sought to service him. He sat locked, frozen, watching as the figure's flesh cracked and shrunk and fell away to the ground in flakes of black ash. Continuously, the stranger burned, ever feeding the mound of human soot beneath him. Layer by layer he was peeled away. After an eternity, the flames rendered his tongue and throat useless, ending the barbaric cries. Long after the half-burned corpse should have succumbed to death, its thinly muscled skeleton still writhed in agony.

A combination of stomach acid and half-digested food burned a foul trail up his throat before finding its home on his shirt and pants. After much coughing and heaving, Jeff wiped his mouth off on his shoulder and took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was sitting, his back to a wall, wrists bound behind his back with something cold and hard- metal, he confirmed with a tug. His legs were stretched out straight before him and shackles kept his ankles from separating. His pounding heart dropped deeper into his stomach than it already was when he realized that this was exactly how they had tied up that girl.

' _Nona.'_

Memories of the events that had taken place before he'd lost consciousness in the ring of fire returned to him. It hit like a punch in the gut. "B-Brad?" There was no response. He turned his head toward the desperate whispering that had served as an undercurrent to the torch's clamors. Brad Vickers was right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg. Peter Clark was on his other side. They were both shackled, as well.

"… _Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women-"_

"BRAD!" Brad was unaffected. He kept his head turned up high and his eyes clenched shut, uttering his Holy Mary's as though his life depended on it. There would be no conversing with him. "Pete?"

"Oh, man." A cold comfort swept over Jeff at the sound of a familiar voice replying to him, pained as the voice currently was. "We fucked up, dude." Peter's face was wet with tears, his eyes never leaving the charred skeleton. "We're gonna die."

"BINGO!" All three of them, even the prayer-locked Brad, jumped, rattling their shackles, and yelled out in surprise. "DING! DING! DING! We have a winner! Give that man a cookie!" The monster from before stepped out from the shadows, hands on his hips as he looked down at his newest captives. True to his word, a peanut butter cookie apparated between Peter's teeth. It was promptly spit out.

"Geez, these girls are gonna work me to death. S'been centuries since it's been this crowded down here." The corpse crouched down and retrieved the cookie, taking a large bite out of it on his way. _"Women."_ He spoke through a full mouth, crumbling the rest of the cookie over all three of their laps deliberately. "Ya know I love em."

" _God has returned! God has brought fools with him!"_ It was somehow more sickening to witness the stranger resurrect than it was to watch him deteriorate. Jeff could see now that he had blue skin, and several open wounds across his ribs. _"FOOLS!"_ It choked out as the flames returned, licking at his heels. _"FOOLS that speak of MARY and GRACE and BLESSINGS!"_ Its mad cackles evolved into animalistic howls once more as the flames took hold.

"Oh, yeah. _You._ " The monster considered the raving torch. "As much fun as this has been, Gregg, the lady of the house doesn't want ya here. Understandable, given the circumstances. We'll just have to carry on our fun elsewhere. In the meantime, ever been to Saturn? You'll love it, full o' creatures just like you. I'm sure you'll make lots o' friends." With a wave of his hand, the human pyre was gone.

With the flames gone and no other light to illuminate the dank chamber, suffocating darkness took over. Brad resumed his prayer with less conviction, whimpering the words slowly. "Okay, kids." The voice was cold and wet on three pairs of ears. "Who's the ringleader?"

"Brad!" Peter sold out in record time. "The guy over there, praying! He threatened us!" A lie. "Would've ruined our reputations if we didn't help him! I didn't wanna do it, I-"

"Spare me."

Something brushed against Jeff's leg in the shadows and he jumped violently, kicking at it. Brad's prayer stopped brusquely, and he made sputtering, spitting noises. "Honey?" His confused voice echoed in the dungeon.

" _Oh, yeah."_ The voice growled. "They'll eat you right up, Brad, down to the bone. They're real hungry. Haven't had anything warm to eat since they died." Brad was screaming by the end of the drawn out the statement.

Jeff bucked as he felt a slight weight scratch and crawl its way to his lap. His protests were in vain. Whatever it was, there were lots of them. Too many to fight. At first, the creatures were content to swarm his lap and devour the remains of the conjured pastry. It wasn't enough. Soon they crawled up his chest and ate through the material of his shirt, devouring the remains of his regurgitated lunch. That wasn't enough, either. That's when the tiny teeth finally dug into his flesh. The pain was almost bearable at first. Just pinpricks here and there. Like getting a shot from the Doctor. But then, before he knew it, the concentrated bursts of pain were _everywhere_.

Agony certainly is clarifying. It did more to adjust Jeff's eyesight to the darkness than time ever could. A rabid mass of fur in constant motion blanketed the ground as far as he could see.

Rats. Hundreds of them, thousands, scrambling over each other in their haste to get a nibble.

* * *

"Claire?"

Josh's hospital room was filled with every comfort in an effort to make him feel more at home; a quilt from his own bed, an untouched Gameboy and several Pokémon games, an unopened bag of his favorite potato chips, and too many flowers to count. Clearly, these amenities had done little to speed along the healing process. His eyes were wide open, just as deep sea blue as usual, but his pupils were dilated and unfocused. There wasn't an inch of his skin left unblemished. Countless tubes and wires connected him to various machines and liquids. The way he painfully croaked out her name told Claire that whatever medication they had him on was proving ineffective.

"How did you know it was me and not Jessica?"

The click-clack of heels told him that his visitor was a woman. The scent of Roses and Honeysuckle gave her away completely. "Perfume." He muttered through cracked lips. The expensive bottle for Valentine's Day had earned him three amazing hours in her Daddy's hot tub.

Claire sat, crossing one knee over the other daintily. "You're going to die today, Josh. I came to say goodbye." It was early in the morning. He wouldn't have any other visitors until much later in the afternoon. By then it would be too late. "Save your strength. Don't waste your breath asking me how or why. Just… like… accept it."

Josh sucked in a rasping gasp of air and said nothing.

"I just wanted you to know that I did love you. Very much. Obviously, I don't anymore now that I know what you did to that _poor girl_." Claire's voice wavered with emotion. "Mandy. We're friends, now. Just so you know."

"Slut." It seemed Josh could only spout a syllable or two off at a time.

Claire closed her eyes painfully and smiled. "Still lying, baby? Even with your last breaths." Josh said nothing. "I don't know if you ever loved me. Maybe you used to. Maybe you never did. Maybe I was just the kind of girl you thought you should marry. It doesn't matter." She paused to search through her handbag. A rose-gold, diamond-encrusted band was deposited by his bedside, along with a photo reel of the two of them making goofy faces inside of a cramped booth. "I brought your ring and some other things. I thought your family should have it." The sight of the photos no longer gave Claire a warm glow.

"If you do love me, even a little bit, then walk into the afterlife with this knowledge; I will be okay. I'm smart, even though I made a habit of dumbing myself down for you and boys like you. I'm beautiful, and I'm never going to let anyone make me think that I'm anything less than that ever again. Better than either of those things, though, and I have you to thank for this one, I'm strong. You must know how badly you treated me. You have to. You can't, like, be _that_ deluded. You just can't."

There was silence for a long time. Josh nodded. A wave of unfamiliar emotion flowed over Claire. Every argument, every fight, every insult was washed away with his admission of guilt. "No one will ever treat me like that again." He sucked in a breath and Claire's heart skipped a beat while she waited for him to say something, anything. He didn't. She stood. "Rest in peace. I hope death serves you better than life did. I really do." She did not allow him another opportunity to speak.

Claire stepped out of the room, pulling the privacy curtain closed and shutting the door gently behind her. A handsome older man with dark blonde hair and sharp green eyes leaned against the wall opposite her, checking his watch. "Done?"

Her response was delivered without meeting his gaze or pausing her stride. "Done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I sincerely apologize for the length between updates. I've been dealing with a lot of stuff. Mostly depression. I'm working it out, though. You guys will be pleased to know that writing helps. Anyway, I'll try and be better about it. Kudos to whoever can spot my Legally Blonde reference!


	23. Chapter 23

The decimation of the Alpha Delta Gamma Fraternity, Autumn Woods Chapter, was big news. Todd's disappearance didn't raise many eyebrows. Barely even made the front page. It was a small hick town, and he occasionally ran with the unsavory underbelly of the dismal populace. A friend of a friend told so n' so that he smoked meth once, the word got to a reporter, and that was that. Credibility ruined. His own police chief father was deeply disappointed by him, despite his tendency to wipe away any evidence of the boy's wrongdoings. In short, Todd Williams was not mourned for very long.

In death, Noah Thomas finally got his fifteen minutes. #BringBackNoah was the number one trending hashtag on the top social media sites for about a week. His daddy even got Leonardo DiCaprio to do a video imploring his "kidnappers" to bring him back safely. It was actually a really good performance on Leo's part. Alas, Kim Kardashian was held up at gunpoint in Paris the next week and Noah was forgotten.

Josh, Jeff, Brad, and Peter, however, could not be ignored.

In the space of twenty-four hours, they were all just gone. Josh Peters was the stuff of dreams for conspiracy theorists far and wide. His case baffled doctors across the country. The official coronary report read his cause of death as cardiac arrest, though it was noted on the record that he suffered a slew of unexplainable symptoms before finally succumbing to a horrible death.

The young medical student who discovered his body after she heard the flatline was so shaken by what she found that she forgot protocol and took photos for proof. No sane person would believe this. She was consequently fired when they made their rounds on the internet. The boy's red, boiled- some of which had popped and wet him with puss- face was frozen twisted in agony. His baby blues were milky with death, even though he'd only been dead for less than a minute. Yet, they still beamed in terror. The once healthy wheat yellow hair on his head was now a shock of frazzled white, as though he'd been electrocuted.

The ex-nurse would later claim that Josh Peter's last visitor was a handsome older man dressed all in black- she remembers distinctly because he winked at her and _her cheeks felt so hot_. No trace of the mystery man could be found on the Hospital's security footage.

People flocked to Autumn Woods from all over, eager to talk to anyone who had anything to say about "Josh Peters and the Missing Boys", as they'd come to be known. Lydia said that she thought that it sounded like a semi-homoerotic punk band. Those close to Josh, really close to him, the few that were left, said that his death and all the disappearances were the work of black magic at the hand of witches.

There were rumors of a lifetime movie in the works.

The cops only dared to sniff around the poltergeist's wife and her friends once more before leaving them alone for good. A squad car rolled up to Claire's mansion one weekend in early summer after the girls had settled all their things in. They'd been having a pleasant barbecue.

* * *

" _You're saying you don't remember dialing 911 on this date? You don't remember making this complaint?"_

_Nobody wore itty bitty teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikinis like Mandy. "No, hon," She batted her eyes and slapped the confused young officer's arm lightly. "I'm saying I never made the call. Didn't happen. Wasn't me." Were her nipples as pink as her lips? "Who knows? Maybe one of the girls did it, playing a silly prank." That was a whole lot of soaking wet nearly-naked co-ed flesh walking around. And one grumpy-looking middle-aged dude. A tattooed ghost of a girl straddled his knee in the shade, whispering in his ear. The man's scowl cracked into a grin. "Besides. You can go speak to the property manager. There are no damages to that apartment on record whatsoever."_

" _O-okay. Well, it's my um… duty to let you know that 911 is for emergencies only."_

" _Like, I'm sure." Dear Jesus, was that Claire Brewster walking toward him wearing nothing but scraps of hot pink lycra and cocoa butter? "It'll never happen again, officer." And was that a tattoo just above her hipbone?_

_Now that he noticed it, all the girls had tattoos. Well, one tattoo, specifically. He saw it in the flash of a thigh, the twist of a back. A snaking, twining circle. Obviously, the satanic little she-devil lurking in the shadows on such a beautiful sunny day was trouble waiting to happen wrapped in sumptuous ink. It was more difficult to spot her mark than the others because of both its placement and the fact that he had to distinguish it from the others. The familiar delicate lines twisted around each of her ankles, reaching and curling up toward her knees. On one leg, they rose to join the roots of a dying willow._

_He looked away quickly when he saw the vicious heat in her lover's eyes, eyes trained unflinchingly on him._

" _Good. Right. You ladies have a lovely rest of the day."_

* * *

The nosy pig with goo-goo eyes for his wife had nightmares about familial cannibalism for a week. A light sentence in his opinion, but Lydia had pleaded so sweetly to "cut him a little slack."

She's right. He was soft.

She had him. Hook, line, and sinker. The ghost he was a century ago would have cursed him up and down and sworn that it must be the work of black magic. He had it bad. _Real fuckin' bad_. Didn't recognize himself. Doing stupid shit, like feeling butterflies do somersaults in his gut and getting tongue tied when she looked up at him and bit her lip and asked him questions about things she shouldn't know anything about. Like now.

"Okay. What about werewolves?"

His cold heart lurched, knowing how she'd respond. "Extinct." Her pretty face fell in horror. "But- it's like- ya know, not really that bad of a thing cause uhh… they kinda sucked anyway, babe. Killed babies n' stuff." Not necessarily true, to his knowledge, but might've happened once. Who knows? Rabid filthy beasts, werewolves.

Lydia's sadness for the loss of the pestilence, just as she'd learned of their existence, was quelled for the moment. "Oh."

She was laying on her stomach in bed, essay forgotten off to the side as she interrogated him about the supernatural. She had a lot of homework to catch up on. He wasn't supposed to be distracting her. Lydia's hard exterior- put on to ignore him, hopefully make him bored, and finally get some work done- was abandoned when he on-purpose uncaringly popped his collar and nonchalantly mentioned swimming with a horde of mermaids once.

Once again, she was all his.

Mortals weren't supposed to know these things. It was illegal. A lot of the things he'd done in the past few months were illegal. _'Oh, well.'_ He thought with a twist of his lips as his lovely wife flashed fascinated honey eyes up at him and plead for more lore validation. _'Somebody try and stop me.'_

"Vampires?"

His tongue unknotted and his teeth were flashed in a crooked smirk. She was gonna love this one. "Real. Very real. Active and alive today. Heh, well, as alive as I am, anyway."

Lydia's gaze grew hard and focused on something in the distance, just past his shoulder.

" _I knew it. Sneaky bastards."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! That's that for Part II! I tried hard to give y'all an epilogue that tied everything up nicely and set us up for Part III, which is as of yet untitled. I am open to suggestions. Thank you so much, everyone, who has supported me along this journey!


End file.
